magnificentcenturyfics

[magnificentcenturyfics]

Am I The Asshole? - Topkapi Edition

Unfortunately for @faintingheroine I just... Could not bring myself to fulfill her request. I am sorry, it just wasn't very inspiring! But I wrote this as a replacement/apology. Basically, this one is just the Magnificent Century universe, only with the addition of Reddit. Don't think about it too hard.

Disclaimer: Usernames here aren't always super clear, so I am going to just relay here who is who, both the obvious and not-so-obvious ones. ButterflyPrincess - Hatice FeelLikeABot - Nigar Genghiskhanwithteats1001 - Aybige manfromparga - Ibrahim (d'oh) M&MCustodian - Süleyman moonofdestiny500 - Mahidevran Moonlover69 - Gülşah RoyalTurqoise7 - Şah smilingsultana - Hürrem thebossakinci - Bali Bey

***

AITA for taking revenge on my friend for sleeping with my boyfriend? by user smilingsultana So, about a year ago I (18F) entered the harem of some powerful dude (30?M) and met this really nice, chill girl (19F), who is even from the same region as me??? We instantly hit it off, we even slept next to each other in the servant’s quarters, it was pretty great. A few months in, our master noticed me and WTF he was so dreamy??? I mean yeah he’s also very generous to his favourites haha but that’s besides the point. The thing is, he fell in love with me like immediately, and I am also crazy for him. He jokes around with me, gives me gifts, does really unspeakable things in bed, the whole package. There was some drama with his family, but from the way he talks to me, I thought he won’t even look at another woman again. Especially when I became pregnant! He even nursed me back to health, three times, because did mention his family are a fucking bag of dicks (except for his sister she’s cool)?! But whatever, this isn’t about them.

The point is, remember that best friend I mentioned before? Well, you know that war that we had recently, the one where we took Belgrade and everything? My master left shortly before I learned I am pregnant, and when I came back, I was pretty far along, I think like seven and a half month in? So he gave me my own room, attendants and everything, and my friends was one of those attendants. I thought it’s gonna be great, she will stay with me forever and they are never going to send her away because she’s too old to serve or some junk. But shortly before I gave birth, she started acting suspiciously. For one, she converted to islam, and I know you’ll be asking „but op isn’t this a good thing that she turned away from the false faith?“ – well no, because the moment I learned what she did I knew she got this idea from me. And I converted mostly to please my master. The red flags were just blaring in my mind, but if you’ve ever been pregnant, then you know that this kind of thing is usually pretty low on one’s list of priorities shortly before giving birth. Besides, I thought it would be a bit of a dick move to worry about her stealing my man, like, she would never, and also, how would she even do that when she’s always by my side? So, when I started going into labor in the middle of the night, I thought she would be there to help... But then I couldn’t find her anywhere??? I searched for her for what felt like an eternity, I almost gave birth on the ground of a palace corridor, and she only turned up the next morning! I was too happy to really be pissed off, because you know, I just had my baby boy, and I almost kinda forgave her.

Then one of my other attendants told me that my master had another concubine with him that night – I wasn’t quite convinced it was my friend, but you can bet that when I ordered her to find the woman from last night, I choked the bitch real good. Just as a warning, you know? And that bitch had the audacity to tell me to „let it go“ because master does whatever he wants or something. Well, I wasn’t going to kill him, but that bitch, so I could care less about that. Then my friend disappeared on the same night they told me not to disturb the master, because there’s another girl with him and... I mean, you don’t need to be a genius to figure that little mystery out, you get me? That morning, I woke up to my friend coming back to my rooms, with sable furs around her neck (did I mention that my boyfriend recently gave me the exact same furs as a gift, because he did) and a big smile on her face as she admired it in the mirror. So of course I lost my shit. I only realized I should’ve been more subtle when there was this big hulabaloo around the fact that I said I am going to kill her (which I didn’t even really mean that way, like sure I wanted to beat the shit out of her and cause her grievious bodily harm, but that’s about it), and in the end I only got a few slaps in, so of course that didn’t satisfy my thirst for revenge.

That day, I visited a mirrormaking workshop. The mirrormaker mentioned that I shouldn’t touch this one chemical (don’t remember the name, only that it was this transparent liquid), because it’s dangerous, which gave me an idea. During my initial freakout, I took out my friend’s sable stole; now I was going to return it to her, but of course poisoned with that chemical (which I stole beforehand). And it worked like charm! My friend woke up with her face utterly ruined, and I was happy at first, because now our master defo won’t call her to his bed again! But when my revenge was finished and my thirst for blood satisfied, I looked at the situation with clearer eyes, and I felt so guilty? Like I could’ve killed her??? Which, I thought I wanted to kill her, but maybe not? Like yes what she had done is fucking inexcusable, but now I can’t even really hate her because I put her in the fucking hospital and she’s suffering so much, I... Did I go too far this time? Please help.

COMMENTS

FeelsLikeABot YTA. YTA AS ALL HELL. WTF, THAT WAS TIN AMALGAM? THAT THING CONTAINS MERCURY??? YOU ABSOLUTELY COULD’VE KILLED HER.

moonofdestiny500 NTA! That bitch absolutely had it coming lol - Moonlover69 Agreed! Fuck that whore.

ButterflyPrincess Uh, can we talk about the fact that you literally made your friend one of your attendants?! I mean I feel like just that makes you an asshole. Don’t get me wrong, I am all for having cordials relationship with staff, but... That cordial? Especially when she was your friend BEFORE she became your servant? - manfromparga Nonsense! My best is also my boss and I can tell you from experience it’s actually pretty chill? People tend to make way too big deal out of it, but so far it’s working pretty well for us. Then again my boss is way less of an asshole lol.

***

AITA for keeping my family in the dark about my marriage untill the last moment? by user M&MCustodian I (36M) have had my favourite concubine (27F) for about a decade, and I never had any regrets about keeping her. Sure, she is jealous and temperamental, which is a bit of a problem, but at the same time, her fiery temper can be such fun! Besides, she’s extremely loving and devoted towards me, as well as our children, sometimes to the point of clinginess. In that decade, I might’ve entertained the thought of disposing of her or replacing her, especially whenever she crossed some lines and got into trouble (which, to be honest, happens a lot), but I’ve always decided against it. To put it simply, she makes me too happy to deprive myself of this happiness just because of whatever she has done at the moment.

Of course, the rest of my family does not exactly appreciate this. It’s quite understandable that my previous favourite concubine and mother of my oldest son (35F) dislikes the woman that replaced, but my mother (51F) is no friend of hers as well. While I can imagine she might dislike my favourite’s argumentativeness and ambition, I do not understand how that threatens my mother – or our entire family, as she keeps telling me. My mother is a strong woman, and in conflicts with my favourite, she usually gets her way without much effort. In fact, some of the actions she takes to punish my favourite whenever she steps out of line seem overblown; I strongly suspect mother punishes my favourite overly harshly, or even accuses her of things she did not commit – like that one time she claimed my favourite was unfaithful to me, with the only evidence being a diary of her alleged lover that conveniently disappeared before she was able to present it to me. It feels less like justice and more like spite, if I’m being honest. The only other family members who even live in the same town as us are my younger sister (31F) and her husband (36M), who also happens to be my right-hand man and best friend. My best friend also can’t stand my favourite, though they don’t come into contact that often, and even my sister has a complicated relationship with her, though despite disagreements, they are still generally friends (though since she’s also friends with my other favourite, this often makes her position a bit awkward). Needless to say, my favourite, the love of my life, is not exactly popular with my own family.

Recently, she has played a fine trick on me – first, she made me free her by complaining about how she can’t do charity in the Holy Cities because of her slave status, then refused to sleep with me because, well, she’s a free woman, it wouldn’t be appropriate for her to sleep with someone she isn’t married to? According to all legal experts I’ve consulted, that is in fact the correct course of action, which makes her little trick all the more insidious. Of course I was angry with her, and I banished her to one of our country estates, even though that turned out to be as much of a punishment for me than for her. My pain was only enhanced when our daughter (9F), whom I sent away with her, got sick and I had to visit her. To see my beloved with our darling little girl in her arms, and know that I might never see them again... Well, it was too much. I decided that my favourite’s banishment should only be temporary, but I didn’t quite know when to end it.

Then mother suddenly called my favourite back home, just to visit our children, which was admittedly a bit suspicious, especially when she was then attacked on the way by bandits; then again, she apparently also sent the party that eventually helped save her, so it might’ve been just a coincidence. Either way, hearing that she might’ve died, then spending the whole night with the rescue party, only to see her lying near death on the forrest floor... It was all a little too much for me. I took her home and let her stay for good, despite my mother’s protestations, and while I couldn’t marry her immediately for fear of losing face, my mind was already made. But when my mother sent me another concubine, which I had to refuse, I just knew the time was right. I needed to state my committment to her loud and clear.

I chose the circumcission of my three sons for that purpose. After all, why waste the biggest celebration this family has seen in years? I did not tell anyone, not even my future wife of my intentions – I might’ve dropped a few cheeky hints here and there, but not enough for anyone to connect the dots. When I brought my bride to watch the ceremony, her happiness more than made up for the difficulties of the past few months. We then went to tell our family, which was gathered for the afforementioned triple circumcission, and... Well, I probably should’ve seen their reactions coming. They still made me second guess my decision – not to marry my favourite, the more I think, the more convinced I am that I should’ve done that years ago. But mayhaps keeping them in the dark this whole time might’ve been a little bit insensitive towards them? I don’t know; that’s why I’m turning to redditors.

COMMENTS

manfromparga Okay, ngl that was kind of a hillarious story! And God no, you should not have told them beforehand! They would’ve tried to ruin it anyway! It seems your family is a bunch of scheming bastards. You don’t need their approval. - thebossakinci Agreed! I myself have experience with meddlesome parents – not mine, they are chill, but myfather-in-law was a cockblocking jackass. And mother is a much easier obstacle to overcome! - moonofdestiny500 There you are! You okay, man? I’ve heard you ended up in a hospital! What happened? -- manfromparga Ah, nothing. Minor incident. As you can see, I am well enough to use reddit lol

ButterflyPrincess Hmm. That’s a difficult situation. On the one hand, I understand that disapproving parents can be a pain in the ass – I myself faced the same issue. More because of my husband’s station than because of personal disagreements with my parents, but still. On the other hand, maybe your mother has a point at least in the fact that after tricking you like that, your concubine DEFINITELLY didn’t deserve your full forgiveness? Let her stay in your house, fine, for the sake of your children, but I feel like if my husband pulled a fast one on me like that, I couldn’t possibly forgive him? Then again, maybe if you really, really love her and if she’s really so wonderful despite her flaws, and if (and that’s a big if) you’re not leaving out some more legitimate reasons for your mother to be mad at her... Hmm. I don’t know. - manfromparga    https://www.reddit.com/media?url=https%3A%2F%2Fi.redd.it%2F3gf3i18hcf0a1.jpg - ButterflyPrincess OH GO FUCK YOURSELF. God. Why do you have to be a dick under every single comment I write?! -- moonofdestiny500 Ahh there’s our good ButterflyPrincess and manfromparga banter! -- Genghiskhanwithteats1001 ButterflyPrincess x manfromparga. 500k, enemies-to-lovers, slow burn... -- ButterflyPrincess GO TO HELL YOU VULTURES. -- manfromparga I am honestly offended by the suggestion that I would fuck a pathetic old maid like ButterflyPrincess lol

FeelsLikeABot Okay, dude, but can we talk about the fact that you just. Freed your concubine and didn’t think about the fact that you aren’t going to be able to sleep with her anymore? Serves you right for being an idiot. - RoyalTurquoise7 Agreed! That’s very basic islamic law, man. Where did you go to school again?! Overall YTA, but like... Not a big one? I mean, you did free a slave and made her an honest woman, even if you did do that for stupid reasons.

Genghiskhanwithteats1001 HAHAHA. No, fuck your mum. You don’t owe her shit. Honestly, your wife is kinda boss for pulling a fast one on you like that. Is she on reddit?

- M&MCustodian Yes, actually! She’s smilingsultana. -- moonofdestiny500 SMILINGSULTANA IS YOUR WIFE?! Lucky bastard! To be honest, I wouldn’t even clock her as a slave woman. She rocks. NTA. Or maybe YTA for not marrying smilingsultana sooner.

***

AITA for making my best friend divorce his wife (that he didn’t want!) so I can sleep with her? by user manfromparga My friend (45M), whom I will call Fatih, has a very sordid romantic history. His most recent romantic relationship was that time he flirted with one of my servants, only for her to turn out to be a spy??? Yeah, he was forced to throw her into the Bosphorus himself, it was pretty fucked. I should also note that he only avoided charges of treason thanks to my intervention, which will be important down the line. But anyway. Since then, Fatih gave up on finding love entirely and started living disorderly – he visit a tavern nearly every day, getting drunk and sleeping around. It’s pretty awful, especially since our friendship is well-known by public, and I am curretly holding a high office, so being associated with such wastrel is extremely inconvenient for me. I thought marrying him off might help, and my wife (31F) agreed with me – hell, she even found an excellent wife for him, a servant of ours we could call Filiz (30?F). The problem is, me and Filiz have a history.

A few years ago, me and Filiz served the same household, and our paths often met. I slowly became aware of Filiz‘ crush on me, though she didn’t act on it, and it largely manifested as her faithful service to me and my wife, so I wasn’t too bothered by it. Then our son died, my wife became depressed, and so her mother took her into the countryside, hoping that a change of enviroment would do her good. It did, but Filiz also used that opportunity to seduce me. Now, I reacted as is appropriate to such a situation – I distanced myself from her, sent her to another household, I even thought of marrying her off, though that didn’t quite work out. But she continued to make ruckus, bursting into tears in front of me, writing love letters, even threatening suicide. Soon, I got pretty sick of it. However, in the meantime, my wife continued to be just as difficult – you see, she is from a much more high-born family than me, and neither she, nor her family ever forget to remind me of that fact. And Filiz’s over-the-top gestures of affection made me think that if I was married to her, she would never humiliate me in the same way. After all, as all the men of reddit can attest, a man has his needs, and one of those needs is to be the head of his family. But because of my wife’s superior status, that wasn’t the case with me. I only did what any other man would do – started looking for affection elsewhere.

As Fatih’s wedding was approaching, my desire for Filiz grew. And Fatih made it abundantly clear that he didn’t want a wife at all. So shortly after the wedding I made a pact with him: on his wedding night, he will divorce his wife, that as mentioned he did not want anyway, and he will let me sleep with her, using the public charade of a marriage as a cover. It’s an easy, convenient solution to both of our problems. The only problem is, I might’ve impugned on his manly pride somehow by denying him his lawful wife? But as I’ve said, he consented to the whole thing, and I’ve mentioned he has a life debt towards me, so it’s a bit of a grey area. But then, what is this subreddit if not for clearing up grey areas? So tell me, am I the asshole here?

COMMENTS

smilingsultana Okay, can we talk about the fact that YOU ARE MARRIED?! Does your wife know you’re here, writing this shit as if she didn’t exist?! - moonofdestiny500 Agreed. Ugh, thanks smilingsultana for being the only sane person out here, lol! - M&MCustodian Here comes smilingsultana, defender of women and children haha. I mean, his wife sounds like a proper bitch. Maybe she had it coming? Like if I lived with that kind of harridan and couldn’t divorce her, I 100% would do the same and worse. -- moonofdestiny500 Wow, that’s a very nice, comforting thing to hear from one’s husband. Smilingsultana, why do you put up with this douchebag again?! --- smilingsultana He’s not that bad in person lol --- manfromparga White knighting much? ---- RoyalTurquoise7 Wait. I thought moonofdestiny is a woman? Just from their general writing style. ----- smilingsultana No, he always says he’s a guy. I mean unless he’s lying or something lol.

thebossakinci NTA in this particullar case, but jury’s still out on the whole adultery thing. I know your wife probably has your balls in an iron grip, but can‘t you really just divorce her? Like I personally would rather die that stay in a marriage with such a bitch. Honestly there’s a reason why I am not married lol. Especially not for money. - manfromparga I did not marry for money. Like yes she’s rich, but I genuinely loved her. I was young and stupid, what can I say.

moonofdestiny500 There’s just... So much else wrong with this picture that I didn’t even notice that this „Filiz“ sounds completely insufferable??? Like I have a servant just like this, and worse. I don’t know how bad your wife is, man, but I guarantee you that fucking a yandere does not make her more bearable. Not that I ever tried haha. - FeelsLikeABot https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/SuspiciouslySpecificDenial

ButterflyPrincess Wow. Manfromparga just keeps digging trough the bottom of the barrel, doesn’t he? Like I guess we now know where his misogyny comes from, but still. Punishing every other woman for your own unhappy marriage is pretty heinous.

#magnificent century #sultan süleyman #hürrem sultan #mahidevran sultan #nigar kalfa #şah sultan #aybige hatun #hatice sultan #bali bey #ibrahim pasha

[magnificentcenturyfics]

hello i've seen your list of ideas for Hürrem/Süleyman fits and i actually love them all soooo much but my fav is probably Hürrem telling Süleyman about Leo and also the last one!! but i actually really would like them all and can't wait to read any of them <3

Very sorry for the hiatus, I promise the rest of the fics will be out before the November 1st! Anyway, here's your obligatory mostly plotless fluff piece, trigger warning for... I guess slavery and naked tits at the end?

***

“I live in the greatest city in the world, and yet I’ve barely seen any of it.”

   Streets of Istanbul entered Hürrem’s mind only very slowly. Thrust into the strange new world of the harem and put to work almost immediately, she did not have much time to dream about freedom; then, her love for Süleyman and troubles that she got into because of their relationship occupied her mind. During his absence, she oft spent her now abundant free time dreaming about transforming into a bird-of-prey and flying to the walls of Belgrade, where she would sit atop Süleyman’s tent and watch him, her bird eyes seeing better than any of his bodyguards. As time went on, her fantasies became more elaborate, with her imagining the lands she would fly over – the rolling hills, winding rivers, towns full of hustle and bustle, all of them looking suspiciously like the Carpathians, Hnyla Lipa and Rohatyn respectively. However, she remembered the sight from Süleyman’s balcony and knew the city outside of the palace walls is much different, which in turn aroused her curiosity. Indeed, her eyes of an imaginary bird focused more and more on Istanbul as well, trying to capture memories of it, as seen from the balcony not that far away from where that bird would dwell. But valide said it is improper for a woman of such low status as her to walk the streets without permission, which valide was never going to give her, and so Hürrem began to place all of her hopes of visiting the legendary Constantinople on the sultan.

   Then Süleyman arrived. Shortly before Mehmet’s birth, she brought the issue up to him, but he was reluctant to give her permission, claiming he fears for her “safety and modesty”. After much begging, he conceded that a carriage ride throughout the city perhaps couldn’t hurt, once the baby is born. However, soon after that happened, that nasty business with Günihal was revealed, and special privileges, which the carriage rides seemed to be, suddenly became utterly unattainable for Hürrem. Only amidst the excitement that the news of her second pregnancy brought did she dare to ask Süleyman once again, and her request was indeed granted.

   Hürrem left all but one of her servants at home – to take her on a carriage ride trough the city was the least she could do for Günihal after everything. It was Nigar who suggested their destination; Hürrem did not care much for the exact route of their trip, but the tales of Hagia Sofia managed to arouse her interest, if not really excitement. That morning, as they prepared for the trip, she and Gülnihal talked in Rusyn for the first time in months, solemnly discussing what they once had been told about the former capital of the christian world and wondering how much of the old Byzantine city is still standing. For people of the orthodox faith, fall of Constantinople was a generation-defining tragedy, their worst nightmares coming to life as the city that used to be the center of their world suddenly was „theirs“ anymore, but fell into the possession of their enemies, who then made it the jewel on their crown. Now Hürem could not make up her mind as to what to feel about the whole affair; after all, one day, her son too will rule from this splendid city, and just for him she could not perceive that infamous battle as having a wholly bad outcome. It was strange – the more Hürrem thought of old Constantinople, the more she related to the venerable city, an Orthodox girl brought to ruin by the Turks, only to be raised by them into heights she could not even imagine previously.

   The city streets bore a myriad of subtle signs of prosperity – its buildings were of stone, large and seemingly well-made, streets wide and neat (well, as neat as they could get in a city) and people well-fed and dressed. Admittedly, it could’ve been (and she later learned that was in fact the case) that the area they went trough happened to be in a more prosperous part of the city, but even the poorer neighbourhoods she visited later in life were nigh comparable to any given part of Rohatyn. Hürrem could imagine this is what a city like Lviv might look like, although with architecture more resembling Rohatyn. With amazement, she observed the typical flat roofs and a tall, narrow windows with circle patterns that she knew from the palace, but so far couldn’t imagine as parts of regular buildings. The size of the city was quite memmorable as well. While at first not visible from the gound, it soon dawned on Hürrem and Günihal, as they roamed trough the streets for hours, the road to every destination seemingly endless. Nonetheless, they made up new and new excuses to go further, desiring to soak up as much of the scenery as they could, because Allah knows when they will get another opportunity to see the greatest city on Earth... And there was always further to go, that much was certain. Mosques (a shocking number of them, in her opinion), marketplaces, Byzantine ruins, even an odd church or two. And crowds, crowds so large that Hürrem could not even imagine there was so many people in the world, let alone one city. Most of the people they saw were men, with women usually covered in some way or another, whether with a cloak, headscarf or a veil. No matter where they went, whether for business or pleasure, they all seemed to be in a hury – considering how long it must’ve took to get anywhere in this blasted place, it was hardly surprising. They even made it to the waterfront, from which they got their first proper look at the sea since it brought them into the city on board of the slave ship – a memmory which made Hürrem quickly turn their coach away before they could truly enjoy the sight.

Her mood thoroughly ruined and stomach grumbling, they stopped at the market, where she sent Günihal to get them something to eat. As she grumpily pondered the long hours trip back will probably take, Hürrem watched the people around her and tried to guess who they are and where they are going. There was a woman in rich silks, one of the few to have her head uncovered, accompanying another one in even more splendid dress, crying her eyes out. Ah, a Christian bride and her relative; mayhaps the wedding was thwarted in some way, or it was about to take place later in the day (at dusk, or even in the evening?) and a good sister or aunt tried to at least somewhat cheer the poor thing beforehand by giving her the last taste of freedom... Then there was a man dressed in western style close to them, sharing lewd jokes with an elderly and obviously grumpy old Turk; she did not know what his deal was, but she was sure that, had she known him personally, she would’ve disliked him immensely. A pair of little boys were playing hide-and-seek right across the street from them, while watched a young, handsome fishseller with profound annoyance in his gaze... Their father, perhaps?

   The boys were approached by a man in large turban, whose visage immediately caught Hürrem’s attention. At first, she could not believe her eyes; surely, there isn’t only one man in this whole giant city that has that distinct Graecian profile, large blue eyes and stubble slowly turning into a beard...? She didn’t quite get a direct look into his face, but she did manage to behold him from many angles, and every last one of them only confirmed the incredible truth. She considered allerting him to her presence, but she hesitated for too long; the man turned away from them and walked down the street in the opposite direction from, while Günihal arrived with some kind of flatbread filled with vegetables and richly spiced lamb. It tasted divine – Hürrem hoped palace cooks could make something like this – but it could not compare to the sight that she beheld with her own two eyes just moments prior. Oh, next meeting with the sultan is going to be fun.

   Indeed, next meeting with the sultan arrived quite soon. That very evening, Süleyman surprised Hürrem in her chambers, all smiles and rosy cheeks. He looked much less regal than under normal circumstances – not that she never saw him happy and relaxed, but perhaps it was a mistake for him to come to her in such a mood on this of all nights. Indeed, it was the worst time to wake good old mischievious Alexandra...

„Mashallah!“ he called upon seeing her. „What a visage! Heavens, you should wear braids more often...“

Hürrem donned the sweetest smile she could manage at the moment without hinting at the malice in her heart. „I’ll heed your wishes, Süleyman agh- Oh, Allah! Forgive me! I meant „my sultan“! Goodness, where’s my head at?! I told her a thousand times to pay no mind to what she saw at the market...“

Süleyman’s smile faded so thoroughly it almost made Hürrem cackle. „Come again?“

„During today’s carriage ride. You must know I’ve been there; after all, haven’t I asked you for permission just a couple of days ago?“

Süleyman’s face grew sterner, almost angry. „Of course I know of that; mother complained just how long you stayed there. Weren’t you meant to only visit Ayasofia and nothing more?!“

Hürrem’s heart stopped. Fuck. Is she in genuine trouble? „Are you angry with me, my love?“

Suddenly, his anger abaded a bit, like fading tide that can’t quite reach its maximum strenght. „I should, but tonight it’s... Quite difficult. And you haven’t broken any rules besides, though you shouldn’t leave Mehmet for such long periods. No servant can care for him quite like you.“

His words took her aback. „Valide does not think so.“

„Valide does not know, or like you very well.“

The mischievious spirit that possesed Hürrem wasn’t quite gone, but it has grown a great deal more bashful. „I hope you had fun today.“ she whispered. „I mean, out there on the market.“

Süleyman’s face suddenly took on its usual humorless expression. „I wasn’t there to have fun. I visit my people in disguise, so that I might keep in touch with their needs and opinions.“

Hürrem nervously bit her lip. „That is... Admirable.“ She slowly blinked. „But it spoils my fun. What should I tell the girls in harem, that you are a great and magnanimous ruler, as if they didn’t already know?“ When Süleyman’s eyes bulged out in horror, she laughed. „Oh, you should’ve seen your face! Allah, did you really think I’d dare...“

„As if you weren’t already the very queen of audacity...!“ Süleyman called out, grabbing her by the waist and kissing her neck and throat. The sudden turn of events for the lewd made Hürrem laugh out loud. „I should be angry with you. I should...“ he murmured against her jugular.

„Well, you are the great sultan, are you not? Noone tells you what you should and shouldn’t do. Unless it’s a street vendor that tells you to not stare at things you don’t want to buy, I suppose.“

Süleyman lifted his head from her cleveage and shot her an overly serious glare. „You aren’t letting this go, are you?“

Hürrem giggled and kissed him on the lips. „Can’t the great sultan bear a few little jabs that noone else can hear from his faithful slave?“

Süleyman’s eyes trailed back to her cleveage. „No. Sometimes, you are completely unbearable.“

His eyes lit up, and set fire to Hürrem’s lower belly. Truly, the time for fun and games has passed.

Well, at least for one kind of fun and games... Hürrem thought as she grabbed the fabric covering her left breast and slowly pushed it down, untill cold night air, followed by a man’s warm breath, hit her overly sensitive nipple.

#magnificent century #sultan süleyman #hürrem sultan

[magnificentcenturyfics]

Love your ideas, would love to see how Hürrem telling Süleyman about Leo and her family would go

I was kinda afraid of this one, but in the end I wrote it in like one sitting? I don't know what y'all will think of it, but I have to say, I've never gotten so much into one of my fics as this one. The more I wrote, the more words just... Poured from my keyboard. This one has... Allusions to sex, plus period typical misogyny, but what else is new. Also lots of Ibrahim bashing. Also also slight Hürrem backstory headcanons (but less than I initially planned, sorry, this one is more Leo-centric).

***

That evening started out marvelously. Hürrem had just recovered from the treatment she had to endure in captivity, and came to his chambers for the first time in years with colour back in her face crowned with a big smile, red hair tastefully falling onto her back, topped with a blue tiara, in what seemed to be new dress. She cheekily bent down and kissed the hem of his robes, fixating him with a mischievous gaze. Süleyman smiled back at her. His Hürrem had well and truly returned.

   They made love slowly and gently, savoring every minute, and might’ve repeated the experience had it not been for the heat in the room and Süleyman’s parched throat. He angrily called upon the servants to bring him water and cool down the room; while they fiddled with the fireplace and heating pan, he waited in the frigid night air of the terrace, the morose old man’s frown on his face. Hürrem dutifully followed him there, dressed only in a nightgown and an equally flimsy robe. She surprised him by embracing him around the waist. “Such a beautiful night!” she sighed.

Süleyman caressed the hand she placed on his stomach. “Beautiful indeed.” he said somewhat absentmindedly, already somewhat ashamed by his outburst, yet trying not to have it show on his face or voice.

“Just like the first night.” Hürrem continued. “Remember? That night was also uncommonly warm.”

Süleyman chuckled. “And you wanted me just as desperately as you did tonight.”

“As I still do.” Hürrem noted softly, kissing the back of his head. “It felt like a fairytale, truly. I have gone trough all sorts of trouble the previous day, so ending up in your embrace… It seemed like an immense victory. And then you took me, you, the great sultan, ruler of this great empire, in this beautiful bedchamber, kissing me like I’ve never been kissed before, and whispering sweet words about how much you want me…”

“…and Ibrahim played us his violin from the next balcony.”

He successfully brought the awkward feeling that her words brought him onto her. Hürrem’s embrace went limp. “That he did.” she said weakly, and that was all she could muster in response.

   After a while in which neither of them could find a good way to break the uncomfortable silence between them, Hürrem tried to pull back. Süleyman’s guilt and regret mixed with the desperate need to have her by his side, which in turn battled a long-dormant doubts about her involvement in Ibrahim’s death. He should know better than anyone that she was innocent of all charges, and yet, for years, the accusations were so persistent they sowed a small, irrational seed of doubt even in his head. “Why did you hate Ibrahim?”

Hürrem was taken aback by this question. “Are you accusing me of some dirty games, Süleyman? Have my enemies finally succeeded in making you doubt me…?” She sounded like she was on the verge of crying.

Süleyman could not bear that tone of voice, and turned towards her before answering. “I am not accusing you of anything, Hürrem. I was just… Wondering. All those years, I only heard rumors and second-hand reports of your enmity, but you scarcely showed it front of me, so how could I know what was the matter with you two? Was it truly just petty jealousy? Or did his support of Mustafa and Mahidevran worry you?”

Hürrem sighed deeply. “My love, during my first spat, I had not thought of such things yet. Heavens, Mehmet wasn’t even born. Instead… Ah, Süleyman, I was so young and foolish! Yes, it was indeed petty jealousy, at first.”

“And then?” When Hürrem hesitated, he came closer in a gesture he might’ve changed into comforting or threatening at will, and his voice was soft, but not warm for the same reason. “You are my lawful wedded wife, Hürrem, aren’t you? And you have no secrets in front of me, just as I have nothing to hide from you, correct?”

Hürrem seemed apprehensive, even fearful. “Well…”

“What?”

She looked deep into his eyes and saw the face of a man that could be one’s most adoring lover and generous benefactor, or worst enemy. Hürrem knew a lie could spare her both. But at the same time, she realized that she no longer feared the latter or distrusted the former. Mayhaps she was foolish to get so comfortable in his affection – after all, so did Ibrahim, and he paid for that dearly – but what if the time was finally right? “Süleyman, I… Look, I do not wish to talk about it. It is said that one should not speak ill of the dead…”

Süleyman lifted his eyebrows. “Had Ibrahim done something? Tell me, Hürrem! After all, he is not there to lie and slander you anymore.” The last sentence bore a noticeable tinge of irony.

Hürrem hanged her head. “It is a long story.”

Süleyman sat onto the sofa. “Well, we have the whole night ahead of us, don’t we?”

“I suppose…” And with those words, she sat next to him.

   Hürrem took a deep breath. “A long time ago, when I was a young girl in Rohatyn… Have I ever told you of my younger years?”

“I don’t think so. Besides the fact that you are from that area, I suppose. I’ve never heard of Rohatyn; it must not be large, now is it?”

“It truly is not. It has been awarded town rights some decades before my birth, but as far as towns go, it is neither old nor important. At any rate, my father was a priest in the local Orthodox church. He could read and write, and a pay from his parish was good enough to feed his family, though we were not that rich either. As a Christian girl of no wealth or importance, I was free to socialize boys as I wished…”

“Your father wasn’t worried for your honour?”

“Well, of course he was, but you know how it is. I was young and silly, I did not think of such things too much. Besides, where I come from, we were free to talk to boys, as long as we did not do so in secret and our displays of affection weren’t too open. My father had a friend, painter of icons… Have you ever heard of those?”

“I’ve spoken with the patriarch of Constantinople enough times to have some idea. Aren’t those the pictures the infidels of your church worship?”

Hürrem laughed. “I suppose you could call it that…”

“Say no more. I’ve had the man swear up and down that they aren’t idols enough times, as if I cared…”

“Either way, my father’s friend made those, and he had a son who was to take up his trade. His name was Leo, and we knew each other ever since we were children. When we fell in love, our fathers were quite pleased, as you might imagine – Leo was a suitable husband, in status as well as in kind, personable nature, and besides, they quite liked the idea of our families growing closer. My father was ready to give us his blessing as soon as he noticed the longing glances we exchanged anytime we happened to be in the same room.”

“Was he not afraid of anything inappropriate happening between you two?”

Hürrem smiled. “Oh, heavens, was he! He watched us like a hawk, but… Well, we were so young and innocent, I could not even imagine such a good boy as Leo even trying anything. Our wedding was not far away when…”

Süleyman noticed the nostalgic joy draining from her face immediately. To her relief, he seemed worried and not the least bit intimidating. “When what?”

“A Tartar raid.” Hürrem said quietly. “I was carried away at a Tartar raid.” She suddenly raised her voice. “But do not let me worry you with the tales of that horrible incident, Süleyman. Needless to say, I’ve lost my family that day, and I thought I had lost Leo too… In a way, I had, for I was his no more, but he had survived, against all odds he evaded the terrible fate that had befallen so many of our neighbours. What happened to me then you know. I’ve forgotten my dead love, put him away with my childhood, and became a woman – your woman.” She sat closer to him and rested her body against his, holding him with such deep, honest love he did not doubt her sincerity for a second, as subtly manipulative as it seemed in context. “Alexandra, priest’s daughter from Rohatyn, died. Hürrem, the most beloved and devoted servant of the great sultan Süleyman, was born.”

“Most beloved and devoted servant, you say? Tell me again, where does the previous holder of that title come into this story?”

“Well, at this point, I suppose. As I’ve said, I was a foolish girl, and drew Ibrahim’s ire by my demanding nature. We were as spiteful as the other, and so, no matter how petty this feud started, none of us could be the bigger person and deescalate it. Even so, I could not even imagine the cruelty with which he would strike against me. You see, Leo was nothing but a faint memory of days gone by when he resurfaced in Istanbul. How could he not be? In all those years, I never remembered him. Father, mother, sister, those have a place in one’s heart that no one can replace, but a boy I loved when I was myself almost a child? He was barely a star on my heaven, of course he paled in the light of my sun.”

She curled up closer against him, and after some hesitation, he gently caressed her head. Sure, he’ll believe her for now. “But Leo came back to you. What did you think of when you saw him?”

“Oh, I was shocked, of course! And – well, I hope you won’t interpret this in the wrong way… I worried about him. You see, Leo was acting so foolishly, seeking out my company and talking to me despite my warnings. Unfortunately, despite his efforts, he wasn’t given a permission to leave, much as I wished him to do so; his continued presence embarrassed me and tormented him.”

Süleyman’s voice was bitter. “He still loved you, then.”

“If I had any control over what happens in that poor man’s heart, I would’ve erased that hopeless love from it with pleasure, but alas. He eventually at least kept his distance from me, and I would think of him no more if it wasn’t for that letter.”

She felt Süleyman’s body tense up. “What letter?”

“When he could finally leave, he gave Nigar kalfa a letter for me, in which he bid me farewell. A horrible, reckless decision, but no crime.”

“Consorting with a sultan’s woman behind his back is no crime?”

“Well, I’ll let you be the judge, my love, whether it was deserving of such terrible punishment, and from a man who had no right to dole it out anyway.”

“So Nigar gave that letter to Ibrahim.”

“Exactly. And knowing it will throw me in the most terrible suspicion, knowing it will cost me and my children – our children – our lives… He summoned me and Leo into the room, giving me a choice. Either I eat candy drench in the most terrible poison, killing not just myself, but our unborn child, our little Bayezit…”

   If she was merely acting, she would find her place in the most heart-wrenching Greek tragedy. For a while, she was so consumed by grief, that despite his repeated requests, only sobs left her mouth. Eventually, after he started cradling her in his arms and kiss her forehead, whispering sweet words into her ear, she managed to pull herself together enough to continue her tale. “Or Leo could eat the poison for me, making me watch as an innocent man dies because of our mistakes, so said Ibrahim. That… That evil man knew his outrageous accusations might turn against him – after all, he threatened the lives of sultan’s children! At the same time, he knew that even the terrible possibility of you not believing me would be enough to make me do anything he wanted.”

“Not without reason. Had I heard this story from his mouth and read that letter, I would’ve believed him.”

It was as if Hürrem shrank in his arms even more. Again she didn’t say anything, weeping terribly for a few minutes.

In the end, he whispered softly in her ear. “And so Leo ate that candy.”

All that Hürrem said was a quiet. “Yes.”

   He did not want to take Hürrem’s story at face value. Surely, Ibrahim must’ve believed he was acting in his best interest; after all, from his point of view, Hürrem probably looked very guilty, and he was offering her a way to save at least her living children. But then he remembered how he got that letter. Nigar just… Gave it to him. Why? Were they already carrying out their affair? So soon after Ibrahim’s marriage to Hatice? Hürrem probably didn’t know, but that terrible possibility made Süleyman realize that none of Ibrahim’s concerns about Hürrem’s guilt or innocence could’ve been genuine. Whatever other motives drove him, the pain of Süleyman’s beloved was what he cared about most of all. Süleyman’s mind was suddenly plagued with memories – shocking revelations of Ibrahim’s affair with Nigar, the death of Iskender Çelebi, and of course the immense, revolting hubris of that man he was once foolish enough to call friend… And whatever half-truths or distortions Hürrem’s story might’ve contained, it was just too incriminating to be completely fabricated. Most of all, Süleyman realized that after all those years he knew Hürrem’s heart inside out, it was simply unthinkable for him to even consider the possibility of his wife betraying him in that way. Hürrem, whose jealousy could drive her mad, who was willing to die just to prove him her love and who was truly, honestly unable to imagine life without him… That woman would so much as look at another man lustfully?! Nonsense. If such a thing was possible, then there might as well be no God, because it would make Süleyman doubt everything he ever held to be true. “You made a mistake.” he whispered in her ear. “And so did he. Neither of you deserved what he did to you. Ibrahim had wronged you terribly, just like he had wronged everyone else he had ever known. He deserves to rot in a grave somewhere in the woods. I wish we all could’ve simply forgotten him.”

   She kissed him so hungrily, with such joy and gratitude, that even his aging body found it in itself to grab her in his arms and lift her into his lap. And as he pulled up her nightgown while her hand stumbled blindly trough the inside of his trousers, she whispered into his ear the words he remembered for the rest of his life. “Finally, my love. I had given up the hope, but finally you understand.”

#magnificent century #hürrem sultan #sultan süleyman

[magnificentcenturyfics]

The Absolute State Of My Askbox

@desmoonl @laurensgraham @faintingheroine @garnetbutterflysblog @starbabe569

Okay, just a heads up y'all - my askbox is kinda cluttered right now. Not that you can't still send me asks, just be aware that you can only do so today (September the 14th) and tomorrow (September the 15th), and also your fics just straight up won't be ready untill like October. I write these fics first-come, first-serve, and as for who came first... Well, the order is as follows: 1. desmoonl 2. laurensgraham 3. faintingheroine 4. garnetbutterflysblog 5. starbabe569

#not a fic #housekeeping

[magnificentcenturyfics]

Woah!!! A MC fanfiction account! I love your Suleiman x Hurrem work I’ve seen! About massage and love and horniness, so fun and hot! Can you maybe do Suleiman x Ibrahim, or (ah, my ot3) Suleiman x Ibrahim x Hurrem? With first — a night of violin playing, maybe poetry, and kisses — hands, in obedience and hidden need, or lips, because, well some things can’t stay hidden forever. And if second — I would live literally absolutely anything, I have yet seen one (1) work about it, but oh, Ibrahim and Hurrem “teaming up” on Suleiman, again, with laughter and kisses and banter. I really want something happy right now. (Sorry, English is not my native language, so my descriptions suck)

*sigh* Ask and you shall receive.

I am very sorry for the relative lack of main action here. A porn with plot, except the plot only starts and to be honest, there's not that much porn here either (I mean, enough for an explicit rating, but still). Also, is it dubious consent if you are just as hammered as your target? Anyway, an Ibrahim/Süleyman oneshot where Ibrahim is willing to anything, and I mean ANYTHING to defeat Hürrem...

***

Two uninterrupted days and nights with sultan. Knocking Mahidevran off her Thursday throne. Numerous gifts, including ones made by Süleyman himself. Exhalted love poems Ibrahim found whenever he stole a glance at sultan’s work table before Süleyman managed to hide them. And, lest he forgot, two children in two years; at this rate, a prince might already be on its way.

Hürrem needed to be stopped.

   Of course, that was more easily said than done. Valide sultan would have him throw pliable young bodies under the sultan untill he likes one better than the one Hürrem has, but Ibrahim knew that would never happen. So what if they are beautiful? So is Hürrem. So what if they are personable? So is Hürrem (at least to the sultan, she was an enormous bitch to everyone else). So what if they are clever? If Süleyman wanted clever, he would never fall madly in love with Mahidevran, let alone Hürrem. They needed something more, something that Hürrem had, but no other woman that Süleyman had ever been with did – the sheer, unbridled audacity, and in a way that would register as endearing rather than insulting to His Majesty at that. Ibrahim would wear his eyes and shoes down before he found such a woman at harem or a slave market, and in the meantime Hürrem grew more powerful and dangerous with every night she spent with Süleyman.

Well, he supposed, if you want something done, you have to do it yourself.

   And sure, it won’t be easy on him. The entire time he considered this plan, he was thinking of Hatice. But let’s face it, he wasn’t ever going to get Hatice – and if that was the case, he was ready to sacrifice himself for the greater good.

   He found the perfect opportunity to strike one night. They just finished working and in the usual case, Süleyman would call for Hürrem or simply go to sleep, too tired to perform. Ibrahim wanted to make sure he did neither this time. So, as Süleyman got up from the table, Ibrahim said in as casual a tone as possible. „I would like to spend one night with you sometimes.“

Süleyman shot him an expression that told him in no uncertain terms that what he said was just plain weird (as if Ibrahim didn’t know).

„In conversation, I mean! You know I sleep alone every night, Your Majesty, and the loneliness can be truly crushing.“

„We’ll find you a wife, then.“

Ibrahim laughed; he decided to treat it as a joke despite nothing in Süleyman’s expression indicating such a thing.

Luckily, Süleyman decided not to follow up on that. Instead, he cast a longing glance at the door, then turned back to Ibrahim. „Would one night truly satisfy you?“

„I can bring wine, Your Majesty. Kamran agha, a former servant of yours from Manisa, if you remember him... Well, he owns a vineyard in Cephalonia, and he gifted me a bottle, so that I might tell all of my friends about its quality.“ Well, there went the stuff he wanted to serve at his wedding... Which he wasn’t having anytime soon, so what gives.

Süleyman’s face brightened. „Why didn’t you start with that?! Go to your room, Ibrahim, and bring that wine at once!“

He didn’t start with that because, frankly, he didn’t think this trough very well.

   A few minutes later, Ibrahim was filling Süleyman’s cups with the generosity of a man who always has more wine (he didn’t, but the pretense was necessary to maintain at the moment). Wine always made Süleyman more cheerful, chattier and, at least untill the alcohol-induced impotency kicked in, sluttier; under normal circumstances, it took the form of bawdy songs and jokes, but Ibrahim knew he could go further if he really wanted to, and in the absence of a pretty concubine (who hopefully was smart enough to not spread the news of the vices His Majesty partook in)... Who’s to say?

   They sat on the terrace, sharing gossip about pashas with only a thin veneer of „well, sultan simply must have up-to-date knowledge of the activities of his high officials, no?“. A staggeringly short amount of time later, half of the bottle was gone, and sultan leaned towards Ibrahim in an intimate gesture that Ibrahim’s tipsy brain wanted to use several times as a segway to a kiss. Only then did he manage to find a good conversation topic for his purposes. „They say – Majesty I am not saying it’s true, I don’t think it is, it’s certainly slander of your most faithful official besides me – ahem, I mean, they say Bostanci Mehmet pasha likes young boys.“

Süleyman looked like he was thinking, but considering the stage of his drunkenness (which continued to get more severe as Ibrahim kept filling his cup and he continued to sip it eagerly) that was unlikely to actually be the case. „Why?“

„What?“

„Why are they saying it?“

„Well, he has a lot of very handsome men in his service, and isn’t married, and people say a healthy man can’t go that long without... Ahem...“

„He has no concubines, then?“

„Noone knows! He certainly doesn’t brag about it. Or he could seek out the services of prostitutes...“

„Of what gender?“

Ibrahim’s face lit up. „Ahhh! You see, that is a very good question, Your Majesty! I myself felt tempted, a couple of times...“

Süleyman lifted his eyebrows. „Have you?“

„I never went trough with it, but a man cannot help but wonder. Have you ever?“

„What? Consider sodomy? Hardly.“

„B-because... You see, there is one man, and one man only...“

„A prostitute?“

„No! Oh, Allah...“

Ibrahim’s alcohol-blunted judgement took this for an ideal opportunity to strike. He leaned in closer and pressed a kiss on Süleyman’s lips, but they, sadly, remained unresponsive. Instead, when he pulled out of it, Süleyman’s face was confused and a little offended. „What are you doing?!“

„Sire, I...“

„Have you ever kissed anyone?! Because that’s not how you do it!“

„Well, sire, I have, but it was solely in a professional setting, so to speak, and obviously prostitutes...“

   His drunken idiocy was mercifully stopped by Süleyman’s kiss. The experience was undescribable; Süleyman truly could kiss like noone. Years of practice, he supposed, but the passion obvious in every brush of his lips still flattered Ibrahim immensely. He nonetheless wasn’t prepared for Süleyman’s tongue that surreptitiously slipped in between his lips like some small animal under a fence. His hand flew onto Süleyman’s cheek as if of its own will, at which point Süleyman deepened the kiss even further. Eventually, they had to break it up, and as they did, Ibrahim saw Süleyman’s eyes blazing in victory. Ibrahim, afraid of Süleyman coming to his senses, climbed onto his lap and started kissing him in the same manner Süleyman previously kissed Ibrahim. A startled noise escaped the hasodabaşi when Süleyman grabbed his ass with the lustfulness of, well, tipsy sultan Süleyman. Sultan was at least able to think straight (pun not intended) enough to part his lips from Ibrahim’s and murmur. “Let’s go inside.”

   Ibrahim readily jumped from his lap and followed him inside the chamber, where Süleyman’s expression unfortunately grew embarrassed. His returning sanity was confirmed by what he said next. “Pargali… It’s getting late. We should be in bed by now.”

Ibrahim was gripped with desperation; a scheme failing was one thing, but what if Süleyman decides that he doesn’t need a man whom he had kissed in his vicinity, because of the shame if not the temptation? With this thought, he dropped to his knees and started kissing Süleyman’s hands desperately. “Sire, please, don’t send me away just yet… I can serve you in a manner no man or a woman had served you before, devote myself to you so completely as if your needs were my needs and your body was my own. No sultan has ever had a servant as faithful as I aim to be to you. Had I not saved your life several times? Had I not put my body between you and the assassin’s knife? I have no…”

“Thank you, Ibrahim, that’s quite enough.” said Süleyman in an almost amused tone. “Go back a little, please. What do you mean by service, exactly?”

“Whatever you ask for, Your Majesty! All of my body is yours – my hands, lips… Just everything.”

Süleyman turned his gaze from Ibrahim’s face, thinking, before eventually opening his mouth again with an intrigued expression. “All of it, you say?”

“Indeed!”

“And if I ask you to not question my orders or say anything to anyone…”

“Your secrets are safe with me, my sultan. Have they not always been?”

“Undress, then.”

   Ibrahim happily obliged, though he was somewhat worried of what comes next. No matter. If the things get though, he’ll just think of Hürrem’s face when she learns Ibrahim has entered a direct competition with her. She can never be sultan’s bitch quite like-

“So!”

Süleyman’s voice tore Ibrahim away from his revelry. Only then did he realize Süleyman was already naked as well. He braced himself for truly anything Süleyman could ask of him in situation… Well, except what Süleyman actually did ask for.

“Are you ready to serve?”

“I am!”

“No, you’re not.”

Ibrahim winced. “Come again?”

Süleyman sighed and came to Ibrahim, kissing him once again. Ibrahim kissed him back with great pleasure, slowly realizing just how good he can feel – and he felt even better with his hand stroking Ibrahim’s privates. Pargali gave off a moan of pleasure, slightly trembling when Süleyman stepped away, then further and further…

   Walking backwards, Süleyman walked into the bedframe, swearing upon hitting it. He fixed his gaze on Ibrahim’s erect penis, then turned around and laid his hands on the bed, ending up on all fours in technical terms, though not in spirit. “You said you would do anything and that all of your body belongs to me, correct?”

“Yes, sire.”

“Well then.”

“I… I don’t understand.”

“Your penis is also part of your body, if I am not mistaken.”

“Yes, but… What am I supposed to do with it?” He knew it. He could at least tell from Süleyman’s stance. His eyes saw, but his mind boggled too much to admit it.

“Ibrahim, you dense clown. There’s a small bottle of rose oil in the bath. I sincerely hope I do not need to spell it out for you any more than that…”

Ibrahim slowed started blinking again as Süleyman turned back towards him with a stern expression. “But… Why? You’re the sultan of the whole world, kalif of islam…”

“Ibrahim I swear, stop mentioning religion in this of all moments…”

“What I am saying is – why?! Of all the things I might offer to you, why this?!”

“Curiosity, my dear. There’s nothing more to it. I’ve penetrated before, I know how it feels. But to be penetrated… Well, that’s something I can only experience with you.”

Ibrahim’s eyes lit up in excitement. Even in his wildest dreams he could not imagine this night going as well as it did. “It would be an honour for me to show you, then.”

---

When Ibrahim walked away from sultan’s chambers in the morning, he met Hürrem in those red dress of hers that must’ve driven Süleyman mad whenever he was about to spend a night with her. He gave her a smirk, but walked away from her before she could say anything. The image of what her reaction might be had she known of the last night made him almost giddy.

Fuck Hürrem sultan.

And fuck Hatice.

From now on, he and Süleyman needed noone else. And should he still doubt it, Ibrahim was ready was ready to fight for this truth with the same tenacity Hürrem fought for her own supremacy in sultan’s bedchamber.

The game was now well and truly on.

#magnificent century #ibrahim pasha #sultan süleyman

[magnificentcenturyfics]

@desmoonl asked me about my unused ideas for Hürrem/Süleyman fics, so... Here we go, take your pick fam:

Süleyman visits Hürrem’s room while she’s still a concubine, she shows him all of her new dresses and talks about vendors in the harem

a documentation of Hürrem‘s over a decade-long quest to make Süleyman sing after Hatice confides in her that Süleyman used to sing beautifully, but stopped after little Murat died

Hürrem badgers Gülfem about Süleyman’s likes and dislikes, Gülfem later complains to Süleyman

older Hürrem tells Süleyman about her family and Leo, then old people cuddling and sex

Süleyman convinces still not muslim Hürrem to try wine

Hürrem’s first trip outside the palace, she catches Süleyman during one of his trips in disguise and teases him for it

#magnificent century #hürrem sultan #sultan süleyman

[magnificentcenturyfics]

So.. anything Hürrem and Süleyman related😁 like maybe filler scenes that could've been in the show, but weren't, that would add to their relationship.. there is this post for ideas, but if I think of something more detailed I'll send another ask. sorry if this is kinda vague

Okay, so based on your prompts you probably wouldn't mind a silly fluff piece, which, lucky you, that is exactly what I wrote! Just. The most no-plot, all-romance fic ever. Call it Massage or something. Featuring some horniness and A LOT of physical contact.

***

After that first night, Alexandra was woken up way too early by something she could not quite place, untill she realized that Süleyman wasn’t next to her. She sat up at the bed, thoughts still lousy and pained eyes closing on their own, and forced her sore thighs to move in order to get out of bed. In the dark, she saw the sillhouette of her lover creeping to the door. „Süleyman?“

„Alexandra? You’re awake?“

„How could I sleep without you next to me?“

„I wish I could never leave my bed without you, then, but the morning prayer is fast approaching and I need to clean myself of... The last night.“

„You’re going to the mosque?“

His tone was slightly bemused. „No. Don’t fear, I’ll come back to bed soon. You can go back to sleep, Alexandra.“

But she was already seized by the image of him in a bath, too intrigued to pass the opportunity. „Can I go to the bath with you?“

Süleyman laughed. „Alexandra, I can’t sully myself again mere minutes before the morning prayer.“

„I’ll behave myself! I won’t try anything, it’s just... I am dirty too, you know?“

Süleyman’s voice was gentle, but he didn’t exactly give her the answer she wanted. „Go back to bed.“

„You don’t trust me?“

„After the last night? I certainly wouldn’t with keeping your hands to yourself.“

Alexandra moved towards him in fast steps. „C’mon! You know I’m...“ Suddenly, she became more serious. „I wouldn’t disobey my sultan like that. Not if it’s that important for him.“

A moment of silence, then an answer. „Alright. Come with me, then.“

   Sultan’s bath wasn’t as large as theirs in the harem, but it was still larger than she imagined one person might need – otherwise, it was similar enough to the one concubines used, golden screen covering the left half aside. The sky above was slowly turning lighter blue, but the twilight still hasn’t quite began. Süleyman let her behind the golden screen with him, but didn’t pay much attention to her afterwards. Undaunted, she stood next to him covered only by his own robe and watched him wash himself intently, murmuring something that sounded like Arabic. She figured it’s a muslim thing – she saw girls who already converted do that before, and while she didn’t quite understand it, she just assumed it has something to do with religion, because what else would the random slave girls and the great sultan Süleyman have in common? At that, she felt a pang of jealousy; she certainly doesn’t have that connection with him... Maybe conversion wasn’t such a preposterous idea? „Süleyman?“

„Please, be quiet and wash yourself, Alexandra.“ he murmured.

„What are you doing?“

„Alexandra, please, leave me alone, I’ll explain later.“

   Alexandra sat down on a seat by the wall, somewhat offended. She tried to focus on bathing, but her eyes couldn’t help but fly towards Süleyman and watch the strange, overly pedantic manner in which he was washing himself. He stopped just as she started to sing a song she heard from a Poprad merchant.

Za lasami za gorami za dolinami Pobili sie dwaj gorale ciupagami Hej gorale nie bijta sie Ma goralka dwa warkocze podzielita sie

„Is this some kind of christian prayer?“ he asked.

Alexandra barely contained a giggle. She had no idea how much did the sultan know about christian rites, but surely, he could not believe something so silly...? „No.“ she said with a smile on her face. „Why would it be? Do you think I’d pray in a bath? And to the christian god, at that?“

„It’s just a song, then.“

„Yes. Why...“

„See, because what I was just performing was a ritual cleanse. No good muslim can pray whilst unclean, and intercourse is one of the things that can cause such uncleanliness.“

He explained it to her in such a serious tone, as if it at all mattered to her, and it wasn’t that hard to understand why – sultan wished to make a muslim out of her. Still, she could not help herself. „You sounded like Suklum now.“

„Suklum?“

„The man... Well, he’s not a man, but you know. The one that teaches us stuff.“

„Oh... I think you mean Sümbül...“

„Whatever! He’s not here to get offended.“

Süleyman could not supress a smirk. He sat down a bit farther away than she wished him to be – if they weren’t already undressed, it would look like he’s trying to prevent people from getting the wrong idea. „That song... What was it about?“

„Nothing, really. Two guys are fighting, and someone, it’s not clear who, tells them that they can share. Hej gorale nie bijta sie... Ma goralka z produ z tylu podzielita sie... Hey, gorals, don’t fight, Goral woman has front and behind, you’ll share...“

Süleyman’s look alone made her burst out laughing. He was... Terrified? Mesmerized? Offended? Everything all at once, and some emotions no human tongue has names for? „You make me regret even being muslim, you know that? If I did not have to keep myself clean...“

She leaned towards him. „Then what?“

„Then I’d do you things I shouldn’t even name out loud.“ he said, voice deep and tempting.

She wanted to ask whether it’s not time for prayer already, but then she remembered muslims need to be called to it first. The call of muezzins was inescapeable in this city, like church bells, only stranger. „I mean... What’s one missed prayer if you have to do them five times a day?“

Süleyman gave her a stern look. „Don’t say such things to the kalif of islam.“

„What does that even mean...?“

   But he didn’t answer. Instead, he turned his head away from her and grimaced. „I slept in a wrong possition and strained my neck and shoulders. It happens.“ he answered her bewildered look.

Alexandra beamed. „Oh, I can help with that! There is a girl in harem, Emine, whose whole deal is that she gives valide sultan massages. I saw her do her work sometimes, and while I can’t be as good as her, I can at least try...“

Süleyman smirked. „Alright. I’ll humor you, then.“

   Alexandra stood behind him, laying hands on his neck and trying to remember what exactly did Emine do with valide. Massage was such a strange concept to her, like caressing except harder, but for some reason it sometimes felt good when your flesh was treated a little roughly. No matter. Touch was such a strange sense anyway; the same thing was barely felt at one part of her body, was somewhat unpleasant at other and on yet another felt very, very good... God, what even was it that happened last night? How is it even possible for a human body to feel like that? Shouldn’t it be one of those things is reserved for angels in presence of God or something? And do muslims even have angels...?

   She applied some pressure trough her thumbs – not a lot, just enough to make their contact something more than just a touch. „Tell me if it hurts, alright?“

He laughed. „Don’t worry, Alexandra, the great sultan won’t be affraid to tell you, a simple concubine, what he wants.“

She giggled. „Oh, you can be funny too!“ she noted in suprise.

„Thank you, Alexandra, but... You’re going too soft.“

„Oh! Of course.“

So she pressed a bit more, very carefully.

„More, Alexandra! And move your fingers.“

„I know you can’t just press your hands on someone and call it a massage, I at least caught that from watching Emine!“

   However, then she realized that her outburst brought down the mood in the room, and felt ashamed of it. She tried to mollify Süleyman by kissing the top of his bald head and moving on with the massage, pressing as hard as she dared and sliding her thumbs up and down Süleyman’s neck. Slowly, she started using her other fingers and a range of movement, in a straight line or a circle as she pleased; it was so much fun to experiment, test the possibilities and boundaries, especially since Süleyman’s displeasure was so mild, expressed in small movements and sounds she watched for carefully. She could feel Süleyman’s body gradually relax, which brought her so much joy she eventually dared to move on from his neck to shoulders, which he seemed to appreciate. After a few minutes, he whispered. „Kiss me.“

„Huh?“

„Kiss my neck, Alexandra.“

   He certainly did not need to tell her twice – she herself thought of doing it since they started, but supressed that desire to focus on the task at hand. Now, she kissed him eagerly, almost hungrily, every patch of the royal flesh was an icon and this was her own private mass. Suddenly, his hand shot up to caress her cheek and hair, at which point Alexandra burried her nose in the nape of his neck. She wanted to get lost in him so badly, land her hands, chest and belly on his, and bellow the waist to connect to him like chain links are bound one into the other... At that thought, she felt the now familiar pang of sweet pain. God, he smelled so nice.

He continued to caress her, untill he murmured. „Come here.“ And then he tapped on his thighs.

She almost giggled at the thought of sitting on his knees like a little girl, but when she actually tried it, she realized it has its benefits. She could look right into his eyes, touch his chest and shoulders (she especially liked running her fingers trough his chest hair – if only he had much of them on his head like a normal person, but alas), put her hands around his neck or kiss him on the mouth or face, all the while feeling his penis right bellow her ass and knowing immediately whether he happens to be aroused. And right now, he was very much so. He soon started kissing her, and even muezzin’s call didn’t stop him.

   That day, sultan Süleyman khan, the caliph of all islam, the leader of all muslims and custodian of Mekka and Medina missed his morning prayers.

---

He didn’t ask her to massage him very often, but by the time he came home from the Belgrade campaign, she still did it enough times to suss out what he likes and what he doesn’t. It also sufficed to completely change her view of massage as an act; upon seeing Emine massage valide’s age-battered back, her mind was filled with all kinds of inappropriate intrusive thoughts, and she staunchly refused Maria’s offers to take care of her feet, on which the late stage of her pregnancy did a number on. Sometimes, she casted longing looks at valide’s relaxed appearance upon leaving the bath, and thought that, perhaps, if she put her mind to it, she might just take Maria’s help while fending off all the filth that took up residence inside her head... But then she dismissed the thought; her fear of being inappropriate was, in one of the rare cases, stronger than pain.

   The doctor was quite clear that intimacy at this late stage of pregnancy was best to be avoided, but Süleyman just came back from war and truly couldn’t wait for her to give birth; and, frankly, Hürrem wouldn’t want him to. In the first couple of months, she thought she was going to handle his absence somewhat, but as she started showing, Hürrem was hit with a frankly shocking wave of nasty thoughts. It was quite fortunate that she had to rely on Nigar to write her letters, because if Hürrem had her way, her letters would probably be torturous to the lonely man far from home and any kind of female company. And so, upon reuniting, she and Süleyman as one decided (after the whole thing with the poisoning was sorted out) to forego doctor’s advice and experiment.

(After bearing five healthy children, Hürrem was certain that the common advice to avoid intimacy during pregnancy at all costs was simply nonsense, or at least for women much more delicate than her. In fact, with how strong her urges became sometimes, she was quite sure she’d herself more by maintaining celibacy for the entire seven or eight months that she knew she is expecting.)

   „I wonder if I could even enter you like this.“ he laughed as she lied on her back in bed, legs spread, although still covered with skirt. „The belly would be... A challenge.“

„I mean, you could try.“ she mused. „But I think if I sit on your lap... No, no, that isn’t quite...“

„You were probably thinking of laying me on my back, you little minx.“ he laughed, lifting up her skirt and taking her right heel in his hand.

   He planted a quick kiss on it, only to stop suddenly. „Your legs, they...“

„Yes, I know, they look abominably, and it’s all the fault of your son! My poor little female body simply cannot carry such a big, strong boy everywhere I go...“

„Hürrem, you’re one of the tallest women I’ve ever met...“

„So what? Hatice is even taller! Clearly, a woman can be both tall and fragile!“

He laughed some more, then stopped suddenly, becoming more serious. „It must hurt.“

„Oh, it does! But not more than is normal for expecting women, I was told.“

   He had her waiting for his next move, but when it came... It started out quite nicely already, with him running his hands trough her tortured calves. But as he went on, his caresses became harder and harder, with him putting more pressure on the tips of his fingers and moving more deliberately. When the movements of his hands started shifting between straight and circular, she knew what he was doing. „Thank you.“ she said in a quiet, moved, almost reverrent tone. Her interactions with Süleyman may have been to a certain extent devoid of the usual overbearing adoration towards His Majesty that she otherwise felt all around her, but even in her most relaxed moments Hürrem knew she could not do or ask some things of him that she perhaps could of a hypothetical husband (or Leo). Since she could not automathically expect any care for her well-being from the great sultan Süleyman, it was all the more precious for her that he did, in fact, care, and could for a moment drop his usual inscrutable façade to be tender, just for her sake.

   She sat up on the bed and leaned trough her enlarged belly to kiss his forehead. „Better?“ he whispered.

„Of course! You always make the pain go away...“

---

It was twenty-five years later. As the last servant left Hürrem’s chamber, she dragged her heavy legs onto the bed, while Süleyman sat next to her and started caressing her left foot. „Age has caught up to you, my love?“

She smiled. „It would seem so.“

„One wouldn’t think that, looking into your face. You’re as beautiful as you’ve always been...“

„Oh, so are you, my dearest!“ As a cramp gripped one of the smaller muscles on her calf, she crunched her face in pain. „It wouldn’t have been nearly so bad if I still took a few hours a day to walk barefoot in the gardens like I used to.“

„Perhaps.“ Süleyman said, bending towards her leg. „But, remember when your legs gave you grief last time? All those years ago, when you were pregnant for the first time?“ He then dazed her with a mischievious smile. „I think it’s time to take out the old remedies.“

He caught her ankle and started with slow, gentle strokes of his thumb...

#magnificent century #hürrem sultan #sultan süleyman

[magnificentcenturyfics]

Okay, my prompt, you were probably expecting this:

A Şah/Nigar fic where Şah is intrigued by what Ibrahim found in Nigar that was attractive, and things go on from there to femslash. How Explicit it can be is left to you.

You know how I said it has to be under 5 pages? Well, it almost is. It's like 4-5 pages. Minette needs a long foreplay, yo. And BTW you're gonna regret the whole "how explicit it can be is up to you", because if you make Minette write about sex between two attractive women, she's going to make it VERY explicit.

***

„Your turn, Nigar hatun.“

Şahuban sultan was an afficionado of an older Moorish board game named alquerque. She learned it from Ana hatun, her Spanish Jewish kira, who she used to be quite close to before her unfortunate passing a couple of years prior to her return to Istanbul. Since then, Şah had noone to play it with, untill the arrival of Nigar, who, while not too knowledgeable in it, was certainly a fast learner. They spent many a lazy afternoon in the absense of Şah’s sister and Nigar’s husband playing, especially whenever Esmahan went to the palace again. „She is young.“ sighed Şah. „She needs company of girls her age. Besides, mayhaps this friendship will be of use to us? Hürrem obviously adores Mihrimah, and the girl is certainly old enough to be involved in her mother’s schemes... Well, at least that’s a possibility we must consider.“

„You don’t seem very happy about it, though.“

„Allah, would you be?“ laughed Şah bitterly.

   Nigar’s gaze trailed off around the room while Şah made her move and then drank from a glass of rose water they had on the table. „Sultana... I’ve often wondered about Esmahan name.“

„What do you mean?“

„If I may be so bold... It’s quite similar to the name pasha gave to my daughter.“

Şah’s brow furrowed. „And you expect me to explain this strange occurence?! I do not know the mind of Ibrahim pasha. Never had known...“

Nigar picked up on her sudden bout of melancholy. „Well, sultana, I don’t think anyone had. Hatice, his wife of many years, thought so – but then he became infatuated with another woman, a fact which he managed to keep secret from her for years. I also foolishly considered myself a keeper of his secrets, as if knowing one would give me a key to all the others... But obviously it didn’t, or else his abandonement would not have come as such a shock to me. Matrakçi still thinks so, but I myself am of the opinion that he is wrong as well.“

Şah’s eyes returned to the game. „And Süleyman?“

„Huh?“

„Do you think our sultan had known Ibrahim pasha?“

A sad smile appeared on Nigar’s face. „I doubt it, or else he would not have fallen for Hürrem’s lies and had him killed.“

„Perhaps. But sometimes I think that the exact reason Süleyman had Ibrahim excuted is how well he had known him.“

Nigar was shocked. „Sultana! Hopefully you are not insinuating Ibrahim pasha deserved...“

„No, no such thing!“ Şah interrupted her sharply, seemingly angry at either Nigar, or herself. „Of course he didn’t. I know of the extent of Hürrem’s malice towards him, and of sultan’s love and esteem for that vile woman. There’s no need to remind me.“

   The room then fell to silence, interrupted only by the thuds of pieces falling onto the board. „My sultana, does it bother you?“ asked Nigar in a quiet, almost intimate tone.

„What should bother me, hatun?“

„That you seemed to have very little insight into pasha’s thoughts.“

Şah squinted at her suspiciously, but Nigar’s interest appeared to be genuine. „It used to bother me greatly, when I was young and foolish. But then our aquitance had ended, and needless to say I did not come away from it with a favorable impression of him. And now... On the one hand, he loved and hurt two women, including my sister. On the other, those two women are still devoted to him to the point that convincing them of my point of view would be a doomed endeavour. And now he had been slain unjustly and my petty grievances towards him from our youth mean nothing. Ibrahim must be avenged, whether I like it or not.“

A mischievious twinkle in Nigar’s eye told Şah she was perhaps too open with her feelings. „Petty grievances?“

„That would be enough, Nigar.“ answered Şah sharply. „Or else I might just start asking you about pasha...“

Nigar seemed unbothered by this. „Sultana, I’d hardly mind if you did so. You’ve heard much at his grave, and I am perfectly willing to tell you more.“

That offer made Şah think. She was affraid of breaching the subject before out of fear of insubordination, but if she wasn’t going to ask now... „Tell me. How did it even happen, that a mere servant like you caught pasha’s eye, while he was married to the most beautiful of all sultanas at that?“

Nigar smiled in mild amusement. „You consider Hatice the most beautiful?“

Şah raised her eyebrows. „You do not? Well, I suppose it’s inevitable that you should not think of her very well in any capacity.“

„I would not dare think ill of a sultana for any reason, mylady. I am just very surprised that someone should consider Hatice more beautiful than you.“

Şah blinked sharply. „I do not have time for empty flattery, Nigar. You said you’d be happy to tell me the story of your acquitance with pasha, didn’t you? Speak, then...“

   And so she spoke. Of her professional encounters with pasha, where her feelings towards him first crossed the line of propriety, of hidden fantasies, which he was slowly made aware of (Nigar’s poetic waxing about the hands that strangled her disturbed Şah somewhat), as well as her increasing allegiance for him within harem politics, something he seemed to appreciate... Perhaps too much. Her account of the first intercourse with pasha was as shocking to Şah as it seemed to be to Nigar when it happened, and was a source of much debate between them.

„Why would pasha even do something so abominable?! Betray his sultana, a woman he loved, in her hour of need, for a plain slave woman such as yourself?“

Nigar maintained an innocuous expression on her face. „How should I know? I already told you, my sultana, I never knew the mind of Ibrahim pasha any better than you do.“

Şah pursed her lips together in erratic contemplation. „But there must a reason for this, or else I must conclude Ibrahim was merely possesed by some sort of ifrit, or perhaps a fit of madness...“

Nigar laughed. „I do not know much of the djinn and their goings on – better leave such obscure explanations for a more mysterious phenomena, I’d say. And I do not believe pasha had shown any signs of madness elsewhere in his life; truth be told, your words were almost hurtful. Sultana, do you think me so hideous that pasha must’ve lost his mind when he looked upon me with lust in is eyes?“

Şah smirked. „Looked he might, but to act upon it, and at such a precarious time for the woman he loved at that...?“ Suddenly, she laughed, with a cynical edge to her words. „As if pasha ever behaved selfishly or inconsiderately! Allah, am I being silly now!“

   Nigar seemed as if she wanted to protest, but how could she? There was nothing but truth in Şah’s words. They already finished their game, and Şah won, as she seemed to every time, so her opponent was all too eager to leave. „Anyhow. Thank you so much, my sultana, for the honour of keeping you company. When will Lütfi pasha return?“

„Come evening, I suppose. There’s no need to bother thinking of him anyway; I am the mistress of this household, and you can stay as long as I will...“

„And how long that might be?“

Şah gave her a mysterious smile. „Why? Do you have any urgent matters to attend to?“

„No, sultana. If you wish...“

„I do, in fact, wish you to stay here longer than usual. Esmahan said she’ll spend the night in the palace, and without her I must be alone in this big palace untill... Well, my husband returns.“ Her features subtly, but recognizably gave the impression that she is not exactly looking forward to it.

   And so, the two women did their afternoon prayer together, then headed to the baths, where Şah usually spent the entire interval between afternoon and evening prayer. As Şah watched Nigar disrobe, she observed her intently, hoping seeing her undressed will somehow explain Ibrahim’s sudden bout of lust that made him forget even Hatice. Hatice, the sweet. Hatice, the innocent. Hatice, the heartbreakingly beautiful, as he once described her. Hatice, who none of her sisters could compare to, especially not Şah.

   And yet, the woman he betrayed her for was an if anything even plainer version of her. True, she was not as monstrously tall as Şah and her sister, but in every other regard she rated far bellow them. Her face had the look of a miniature in it, an eastern flair that, however, didn’t make her exactly beautiful due to lack of youthfulness in her features. Really, more than anything she resembled the impoverished washerwomen and peasant wives Şah only ever saw during her charitable enterprises. Her body was no better, though overall it looked pleasant enough and probably was even desirable before it was marked by childbirth.

   Then again, Şah’s body was much the same, now that she thought of it... Which she had not for a long time. There was no need to – the only one who could’ve dared to judge her for how she looks under her dress, even in his mind, was that dolt Lütfi, and she had no reason to show herself to him anyhow. She desperately looked into Nigar’s eyes, for the first time in years feeling the sting of fear of the image other people see when they look at her. However, Nigar’s face was impassive, assuaging Şah’s shame, untill she suddenly opened her mouth. „Sultana, is there anything wrong with me? You can’t keep your eyes of me, it seems, and I don’t think you like what you see.“

Şah reflexively blinked faster than normal a couple of times. „What? Oh, no, I simply got lost in thought while looking in your direction. I did not even think of you.“ She turned away her gaze, trying to focus on undressing. „Did Ibrahim pasha ever comment on your physical features?“

„Such a strange question, sultana... Why, yes, he praised my eyes and nose, and for what it’s worth, he liked that I am quite short. Is this about your musings on his inexplicable attraction to me?“

   Her eyes. Heavens, Şah herself had the same eye colour. She had no idea about the nose – to her, it seemed quite ordinary. But perhaps it was her plainness in all regards that attracted Ibrahim to Nigar; after at all, it certainly was something he could not find in Hatice. Well, not in all regards... In looks, maybe, but otherwise she was really quite exceptional, intelligent, self-aware and quite marvelous company. In another life, she would consider her the most excellent servant, perhaps even a friend, not unlike Mercan... Still, she was not Hatice, and Şah knew of no man (except maybe that fool Lütfi) that would go for any other woman, had someone like Hatice waited for him at home. Especially not Ibrahim Pargali.

After all, in all regards, she is just me, but lesser.

   That thought scared her to death. But Şah always prided herself on not being scared to face the truth, and if her thoughts truly veered in that direction, she should ask herself why is that so. Who does Şahuban sultan consider herself to be, what does she think she is like and is that even remotely true? Ibrahim’s arrival reawakened in her deep-seated insecurities that she thought withered and died in his absence, far away in Konya where she did not need to fear any kind of judgement by virtue of being a sultana, by far the most high-ranking woman in vicinity. Such easy return to the mental histrionics of her youth disturbed her greatly, especially since they did not seem to fade with Ibrahim’s death. She needed to do something, anything to kill them, and for that she had to stop looking at Nigar as her own mirror. Perhaps if Nigar had some trait that would explain Ibrahim’s attraction to her, which Şah lacks, but does not feel inferior for lacking...

What if she is, for example, really good in bed?

   She misliked thinking of such things, but, well, it was the only explanation that would not thread on Şah’s sense of self. It must’ve been at least part of it, she was sure, because a smart man like Ibrahim would not carry out such a long affair had it not been satisfactory in at least that regard. More satisfactory than his marriage? That she could not tell; her experience with physical pleasure was admittedly quite sparse, limited to faint recollections of the first years of her marriage, when Lütfi seemed to arouse any feelings in her mostly by accident. What would it even look like for someone to choose their partners for how well they are able to please them? Şah glanced at Nigar’s unassuming figure, lounging on the marble, lost deep in thought. There was only one way to find out. „Have you and Rüstem ever... Consumated your marriage?“

„No, sultana. He seems to dislike me too much to even consider it.“

„As I thought, Rüstem is a fool.“ said Şah in a self-satisfied tone. „You have not been with a man for years, then?“

Nigar raised her eyebrows, obviously intrigued. She must’ve noticed Şah’s stares, which may even seemed to her to be lustful. „Truth be told, I haven’t thought of it much. So many things happened in that time, most of them tragic or at least unpleasant, I simply could not find it in me to be frustrated. Melancholy does that to you.“

„Melancholy? Is that what you feel?“ Şah said quietly, leaning in closer. Goodness, she could smell the woman’s body – a strange, faintly unpleasant sensation, but deeply arousing at the same time.

Nigar looked at her with knowing eyes. Clearly, there was no doubt in her mind about sultana’s intentions. „Less so in your company, I must admit.“

   A shiver came over Şah’s entire body, bolt of deep, agonizing pain, reminding her of parts she was neglecting for all those years. A decade and a half of frustration demanded satisfaction, egged on by her own curiosity and need to get rid of the thought that she and the woman next to her are all that similar. Her hand dropped down on Nigar‘s knee, and as their eyes met, Nigar did not need to be told anything to understand. Launching herself forward, she grabbed Şah’s face and kissed her like noone had kissed the sultana ever before. After a few embarassing seconds, when she didn’t know quite what to do with her lips, instincts took hold of Şah and allowed her to reciprocate. As her partner’s tongue found its way into her mouth, Şah gave off a surprised noise, making Nigar back off. Affraid of her reason getting the better of her and the sweetness inside of her discipating, Şah immediately kissed Nigar with long, indulgent brushed of her lips, her hand slowly landing on Nigar’s neck and temple. Nigar put her hand on Şah’s temple as well, tugging her partner closer and fanning the flames of her desire.

   And then she went even further. Her hand suddenly left Şah’s head and landed on her thigh, slowly venturing forward to the folds of her towel, while they continued kissing. When they finally parted, Nigar kept her head close to Şah in an intimate gesture, caressing her legs, hips and bottom. But Şah, seized by violent need, did not have patience for such pleasantries. She grabbed Nigar by the waist and pushed her body towards her own, feeling her breast just bellow her own, just as small and not firm as her own – which slightly defeated the purpose of this encounter, throwing her off balance. „Get naked.“ she whispered in her ear in a somewhat vexed tone. Nigar eagerly obliged, rising up from the marble and throwing off her towel. Şah’s gaze trailed over her body, at once with lust and an increasingly disturbing realization of how similar their bodies look. In desperation, she clinged to any and all differences between them to banish that thought – see, Nigar doesn’t look that similar, she has rounder hips, larger nipples, shorter legs and much less birthmarks than you...

   At the same time, some part of her enjoyed simply looking at her partner, drinking in every curve and irregularity in her shape. It made her shake uncontrollably, as if inflicted with fever, while on the inside of her thighs she felt a strange hot liquid flowing from inside of her. Embarassed, she spread her legs, wanting to make sure it’s not urine, which Nigar understood as a signal. She dropped to her knees right in front of Şah’s intimate parts and fearfully brought her head closer to them. Şah’s head was filled with images of Nigar kissing those parts, and she realized how badly she desires it. So when Nigar lifted her eyes to Şah‘s, waiting for a signal, sultana had no choice but to nod her head. And that was all Nigar needed to put her lips to Şah unmentionables and start licking and sucking. It mouth moved in a very uncertain matter, as if she hasn’t done it before, but saw it or at least heard it described. Of course, the slave girls, they would know, they are together every night, body to body, shoulder to should, in both baths and communal bedroom... God knows what they do there. If not Nigar herself, someone in her vicinity must’ve throughout her long service in the harem. Still, even her clumsy lips brought Şah to the brink of madness, which she could only express in blood-curdling screams. This seemed to only embolden Nigar, as she sucked on more and more hungrily, untill suddenly she stopped, leaving Şah on the brink. „Sultana, I will not finish.“

„What?!“

„I will not finish unless you promise to do the same to me.“

Her request was bold, but considering the strange situation it was pronounced in, perhaps not unwarranted. And frankly, at that point, Şah would sell her own soul for release. „Of course. Just... Please, continue!“

   If anything, the pause made the waves of pleasure return with even bigger intensity. It took only a short while for Şah to let out a final, triumphant yell, a wolf’s howl in the night, which Nigar seemed to recognize. Rising from the floor, she took Şah in her arms, as the sultana realized she was drifting off to sleep. As she softly caressed her spent partner, Nigar whispered. „Are you tired?“

Şah forced her body to tear itself from Nigar’s embrace and stand up, no matter how shaky her legs were. „Yes. And I am going to take a nap now.“

Nigar fluttered her eyelashes. „Can I lay with you?“

Another bold request only made plausible by their strange situation. Were they lovers now? Perhaps... „Of course.“ she answered tentatively.

   As she was falling asleep, Nigar’s head on her shoulder, Şah felt a sense of satisfaction – maybe later it will be complemented by guilt, more desire, or even infatuation, but those were thoughts for another, more sober time. Now, she had had a goal, and she just achieved it. For one, she knew what it feels like to make love to Nigar hatun, and why would Ibrahim crave it so. She understood why he desired her, because now Şah desired her as well, and nothing more needed to be said about that. And in this desire she found an escape from the persistent comparisons that her mind made between her and Nigar. After all, it is unseemly to seek comparisons between yourself and your lover, is it not? There is something truly abominable in desiring someone for how similar are they to yourself. Perhaps that is the source of all the shame and disgust surrounding intercourse between people of the same gender. But, Şah reasoned, all men and all women aren’t the same, so it is perfectly plausible for a person to desire one of the same gender, but otherwise as dissimilar to themselves as they come. And if Şah truly desires Nigar, it was thus an anathema to her to admit any similarities between them...

#magnificent century #nigar kalfa #şah sultan

[magnificentcenturyfics]

A quick heads up! From September the 1st to the 15th, I have a special offer - a fanfic of your choice, provided that the prompt can be done justice in under 5 pages of Word. It also can be of any fandom, if I have seen the source material (but realistically most of my mutuals are from the Magnificent Century fandom, I'll be lucky if I get literally any Kösem prompts). Also no "x reader" nonsense, I kinda hate that one and think it's cringe. I mean you do you but this is a hard line for me. Send asks to this blog, please (I mean I won't get mad if you sent some to my main blog, but it's just not how I want this to work).

#magnificent century #magnificent century: kösem #other fandoms

[magnificentcenturyfics]

Remembering Gülbahar, part 2/2 - Wooing

Description: Continuation of my version of Mahidevran's backstory. Now an oops all Mahidevran x Süleyman fic. TW: what might be implied SA?

***

   Around half a year after Süleyman’s arrival, he came to Istanbul once again, if only for a short visit – his younger sister Şahuban was to be marry Lütfi pasha. Of course, Ayşe Hafsa was to attended the wedding as well, and surprised Gülruh and Mahidevran were chosen as part of her entourage, which otherwise only included four slave girls, the other two being much older and more experienced. While at the time she was baffled by the great honor she’s been bestowed with, now Mahidevran suspected Ayşe Hafsa always had ulterior motives with Zahide hanim’s girls. Even back then, she might’ve figured it out sooner if such a thought wasn’t an act of immense hubris under the circumstances. As if Ayşe Hafsa would consider lowly Mahidevran hatun good enough for the possition of a concubine!

   As it was, Mahidevran was filled with happiness as she marveled at the size and beauty of the then still in construction Topkapi palace, secure in her mistress‘ confidence in her as never before. This was especially important, because Ayşe Hafsa never sought to build a close relationship with her servants, aside from of Daye, and if she noticed them at all outside of giving them orders, she tended to treat them as a nuisance. Unlike Hürrem, who quite open and proud of the origin of her name, Mahidevran rarely talked about it, hoping people she met never heard of her as Gülbahar, because it was almost embarassing – Ayşe Hafsa often mixed up the names of her, Gülruh and Gülfem, to her own chagrin. In the end, she proclaimed that Gülruh was to be named Hüsnimelek and Gülbahar Mahidevran, and didn’t even bother to explain to anyone why did she chose those two names. Mahidevran, though humiliated by said careless name change, soon adjusted to it, simply because she did like her new name better, and it eventually helped her erase this period of her life from the memory of everyone else. Untill Gabriela’s audacious request, Mahidevran liked to pretend everything that came before that sunny, unusually dry autumn simply did not exist.

   Mahidevran was at time so swept up in the pomp of the celebrations and beauty of the bright, rich colours autumn leaves gained in the persistent sunlight that she barely even noticed the wedding was actually a rather somber occasion. In fact, upon reflection, she certainly perceived the similarities between weddings of Şah sultan and Mihrimah sultan, even if the former wasn’t nearly as ostentatious as the latter. Şah’s unhappiness had rubbed on Süleyman, who expressed scepticism about the match quite often, much to his father’s irritation, but ultimately was powerless (and possibly unwilling) to stop the wedding. He tried his best to support his sister troughout this miserable ordeal, but ultimately, Süleyman seemed more bored and annoyed than anything. Despite their best efforts, the royal family gave off the impression that none of them wants to be there, and şehzade Süleyman was no exception. This must’ve strenghtened the resolve of Ayşe Hafsa to put in motion a plan she most likely had in mind for a while.

   On the first morning of the seven-day celebrations, she sent all of them away besides Hüsnimelek and Mahidevran. This immediately made Mahidevran’s heart beat faster, as she wondered whether they earned some kind of punishment, reward, or perhaps an important task. It turned out that depending on one’s perspective, it might’ve been all three. „My son has been in a foul mood lately, and I wish to please him, but he isn’t very receptive towards the charms of harem girls these days. I haven’t been able to change his mind on this, but mayhaps such beguiling young creatures as you might. Thus, I wish to declare a contest between you two. Whichever one of you manages to obtain even the most miniscule expression of favor from our şehzade, even if it isn’t outright purple handkerchief, will earn a prize; and if by any chance you are called upon halvet, you shall be my most favoured of the concubines. If you do not succeed despite your best efforts, I won’t begrudge you, but should I notice you not trying at all, your disobedience shall not go unpunished. Understood?“ When they nodded their heads, trying desperately to hide their excitement, she moved her hand in a lazy gesture. „Off you go, then. And good luck!“

   As soon as they left their mistress‘ apartments, Mahidevran collapsed to the floor, shaking and on the verge of crying. Frightened Hüsnimelek sat on her heels next to her. „Mahidevran?“

Mahidevran wiped away the wetness slowly clouding her gaze with her sleeve and managed to stop more of it from coming to the surface of her eyes. „Why must she torment us like this?! Does she not see...“ She didn’t even finish that silly thought. Of course she does not. What should Ayşe Hafsa, daughter of the Crimean khan and wife of the mighty sultan Selim, care for the banale friendships of slave girls?

„I don’t think it would help much even if she did. Now, get up, god forbid someone important sees you like this – sitting in the hallway crying...“ she said gently, extending a hand towards her.

Mahidevran hesitantly took it. „I am not crying.“ she proclaimed in a somewhat shaky voice, trying desperately to sound proud, even imperious. When she was finally standing on her own two feet, she looked into Hüsnimelek’s face and realized her friend isn’t calm, as she initially asumed, but tired and somewhat upset.

   She awkwardly slipped around Hüsnimelek and resolved to leave her vicinity as quickly as possible, preferably for good, only for her friend to exclaim in an irritated tone. „Are we not going to talk about this?!“

„What is there to say?! Her Majesty wants us to not be friends, so what can we do?!“

„She didn’t say anything like that, Mahidevran.“

„But if we want to fulfill the task she has given us...“

Hüsnimelek stuck out her lip defiantly. „We’ll find a way around it, I am sure! If only we work together... Reach some sort of agreement...“

„What kind of agreement?! Her Majesty’s instructions were clear – we are supposed to be rivals in this contest...“

„A contest where there is nothing to lose.“ Hüsnimelek spat out contemptously. „So what if one of us becomes the prince’s favourite? The other one will still be in the service of Her Majesty, and either gets a good husband, or a the possition of a kalfa. I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t be offended if you were blessed with the purple handkerchief – on the contrary, I would be happy for you! Wouldn’t you be happy for me too, Mahidevran?“

Mahidevran pursed her lips together, imagining the scenario. „I hope I would, because I already know I won’t win. How could he notice me over you, the most beautiful woman in this entire harem, who is also so clever and cheerful and lively...“

„Oh, that’s lovely. I am glad to hear that if you had to give away that godforsaken handkerchief, you would’ve chosen me.“ Hüsnimelek laughed. „But you don’t, şehzade does. And we can’t know which one of us he’d fancy if he noticed us, because he hasn’t yet.“

Mahidevran felt her mouth form into a small smile, and decided not to say anything. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became she cannot possibly compare to Hüsnimelek with her waist-lenght hair the colour of a fresh hazelnut shell, round face with full pink cheeks, soft features and big aquamarine eyes with long lashes. And while her body was mostly slim just like Mahidevran’s, it was also graceful and had at least some curves, whereas Mahidevran was just thin and flat. No, she should not stand in Hüsnimelek’s way now. If everything goes well, she will be the mother of şehzade’s next child; if not, well... When Süleyman rejects someone like Hüsnimelek, what are the odds of Mahidevran catching his eye?!

   It didn’t help that Mahidevran wasn’t very inventive. While she took Ayşe Hafsa’s instructions seriously despite the seeming hopelessness of her mission, she racked her brain for several days trying to think of how to catch Süleyman’s eye. Meanwhile, Hüsnimelek attacked with full force of her finest weapons from the very first day. That night, celebrations in the harem provided them with a good opportunity for a first strike – and while Mahidevran simply put on her best dress, did her best with the limited supply of beauty products she owned (Gülşah helped her with this and was helped by Mahidevran in turn, as was the custom between lower-ranking girls) and tried to dance as gracefully and seductively as possible (with mixed results), Hüsnimelek’s plan was much more sophisticated. After dancing as close to Süleyman’s line of sight as possible (somewhat foolishly, since he barely glanced at the slave girls having fun in front of him), she turned towards Ayşe Hafsa and acted as if she was trying to return to her side. However, on the way there, she very obviously faked slipping on a carpet and falling right into Süleyman, her stunning figure on full display to him as he just barely caught her before she could crash into his face. She then stared at him a little too long before she backed away and turned her gaze down. But Hüsnimelek didn’t even manage to appologize before Süleyman started acting as if nothing happened, jovialy continuing a conversation with one of his aunts present at the festivities. As Hüsnimelek‘s appologies went ignored, Ayşe Hafsa told her to not waste her breath and leave the room, which she did on the verge of tears. However, when she saw worried Mahidevran follow her out of the room, she quickly adjusted herself and went to the common sleeping area poised and calm-looking.

   While this first unsuccesful attempt left Hüsnimelek sad and disappointed for a night, the very next morning she was already plotting another one. This time, she wrote a love poem, which she then left in prince’s apartments, hoping he would inquire who wrote it. He likely didn’t, and Daye spoke to the entire harem that afternoon, scolding the poem’s anonymous author for bothering the prince. That was an even harsher blow towards Hüsnimelek’s pride than the previous night, no matter how fervently Mahidevran swore her poem was one of the best she’s ever read. She wasn’t even lying; of course, what Mahidevran didn’t tell her friend was the way she was dying of jealousy reading it, knowing that she herself would never be able to create anything so awe-inspiring. At the same time, she felt guilty for this jealousy and had her opinion of şehzade Süleyman sour somewhat. How can he not see the literary genius on display, how can he, who prided himself so on his culturedness, dismiss such a talent right in front of him?! Is it just because the poem’s author is likely a mere slave?

   Nevertheless, after a day of sulking, Hüsnimelek managed to muster up courage for yet another attempt. Her voice, while by no means spectacullar, was pleasant enough, and she reasoned that if she chose a right song, she could make şehzade notice her by simply singing in his vicinity often enough. She tried enlisting Daye’s help in getting closer to him, even offering her a bribe, but no luck; the old woman knew about their mission, but was unwilling to help them, likely on Ayşe Hafsa’s instruction. At the same time, sultana kept Hüsnimelek busy the entire day, so she didn’t get the opportunity to execute her plan.

   Mahidevran meanwhile made a half-hearted attempt to run into şehzade during her time off that afternoon, hoping he won’t take the collision too harshly – and that it will be witnessed by Ayşe Hafsa, then walking the gardens with him, so that her mistress cannot accuse Mahidevran of not doing what she was told. Indeed, she found şehzade Süleyman and his mother and managed to find a way to walk opposite them right as they turned the corner, so that it didn’t seem suspicious that she didn’t immediately stop and bow in their presence. Of course, she nonetheless bowed right after the collision, appologizing impassionately, which sultana and her son seemed to ignore at first (except for what Mahidevran would swear was a single angry stare from Ayşe Hafsa). However, as they walked past Mahidevran, she heard Süleyman casually ask his mother. „Isn’t that the girl who ran after that annoying one?“

„Yes, that is her. Why?“

„Do they know each other?“

„How should I know?! Do you think I keep an eye on which slaves are friends? Bah! Don’t be...“

„Well, they are your personal servants, aren’t they?“

„Still.“

„Oh, she’s still here!“

„Bismillah, she is listening in on us! I am going to...!“

„Please, calm down, mother. Hey, you!“

Mahidevran turned towards them, her hands shaking. She bowed deeply, eyes firmly pinned to the ground. „My prince?“

„Do you know that girl who fell on me a few days ago, during those celebrations?“

„Yes, sir. She is in fact a friend of mine.“

„Tell her, then, that her talents are wasted on vain attempts to gain my attention. Her poetry is magnificent, but I can already tell she could be quite persistent if she puts her mind to it, and I do not wish to be bothered by her my entire stay in Istanbul. I do not desire her, and she should get the thought of convincing me otherwise out of her head.“

   What happened next could be chalked up entirely to Mahidevran’s tendency to act before she thinks, especially prominent in her youth. Against all rules, she lifted her gaze and let out a surprised. „Why?“

Süleyman raised his eyebrows. „Why what?“

Ayşe Hafsa seemed outraged. „How dare you question our şehzade?! Get out of my sight, you insolent...“

„Not before she answers my question, mother.“ said Süleyman coldly.

Mahidevran dropped her gaze to the ground once again. „I meant... Şehzade forgive me, I didn’t...“

„What did you mean by „why“, hatun?“ he asked impatiently.

Mahidevran thought she could die of shame. „I just... I... If you liked Hüsnimelek’s poetry so much... And since she’s also one of the most beautiful women there... Why are you so disinterested in her?“ She then added, hoping to lessen the blow. „I wondered. I shouldn’t have done so. Please, forgive me my insolence...“

Süleyman’s voice was half-annoyed, half-amused. „Stop appologizing. I wasn’t angry at your impulsive question, but if you keep appologizing for it, I might get angry yet.“

Mahidevran lifted her gaze in surprised, but then remembered herself and looked down again.

She bowed once more and was ready to leave, when Süleyman spoke once again. „I did not give you a leave, Mahidevran.“

Süleyman’s voice was deep and soft and to hear her own name from his lips felt like a caress. At that moment, Mahidevran felt a light shiver all over her body. She was affraid to do or say anything out of fear of yet another scolding, but at the same time even this kind of miniscule, somewhat indifferent interest in her from him felt like the highest honor Mahidevran has been given in her entire life.

„Will you relate my message to her, then, in those exact words?“

„Yes, my prince.“

„Alright, then. Lift your head up, I want to see your face when I’m talking to you.“

   But he didn’t actually talk to her. When their eyes met, he didn’t say anything, instead looking at her intently for a while before nodding her head. „You may go.“ he said quietly, turning away as Mahidevran gave him her final bow. She didn’t leave, instead trying to listen in on them, but she only heard Ayşe Hafsa’s annoyed questioning of her son and Süleyman’s only response – laughter.

   When Mahidevran returned inside, she felt a strange clenching in her stomach and her heart still beating faster than normal. While she managed to collect herself in time to return to her duties, she was somewhat absent-minded the entire rest of the day, at all times either remembering Süleyman’s words and thinking how best to relay them to Hüsnimelek, or daydreaming about his beautiful eyes and voice. She was sane enough to realize how silly it is, to think Süleyman would remember her as anything other than a servant he gave an order to, but a part of her could not possibly give up hope, especially since Hüsnimelek had already lost their little competition. Or such was one interpretation of what happened – really, when it came to Süleyman, was being thought of somewhat badly worse than not being thought of at all? Then again, Hüsnimelek’s loss could’ve been a catastrophe to Mahidevran, who in her own eyes simply could not compare to her rival. If she had no chance, Mahidevran had twice as little.

   She talked to Hüsnimelek as they went to sleep in the common area. „I met şehzade in the gardens. The good news is, he read your poem and liked it. But... He is still asking you to stop pursuing him.“

Hüsnimelek’s expression was a mix of befuddlement and profound dissapointment such as Mahidevran had never seen before. „Allah, I knew it. I was too conspicuous, wasn’t I?“

„I suppose?“

„That’s what I get for desiring sultana’s attention more than şehzade’s. I wanted her to see that I am doing something so badly that I forgot what my mission was in the first place.“ After a little silence, she lifted her blanket to climb under it, but then stopped to talk to Mahidevran. „Was he angry at me? Do you think it’s completely hopeless?“

„I don’t think he was angry, but he definitely meant „stop trying to gain my attention“ as an order.“ When she saw her friend’s defeated face, she quickly added. „But I don’t think our mistress would want you to give up. At any rate, we should at least ask her...“

„I would rather not.“ Hüsnimelek sighed. „She saw that I’ve done everything in my power, and should understand that it wasn’t enough. Shouldn’t she?“

Mahidevran didn’t answer. She wasn’t in a mood to argue, and knew her friend felt the same, even if they both knew Ayşe Hafsa enough to doubt Hüsnimelek’s hopefulness.

   Next morning, Hüsnimelek confessed to Mahidevran that she was giving up her pursuit of şehzade Süleyman for good. Mahidevran herself considered doing the same, although she didn’t voice it in front of her friend. Then again, perhaps she should show at least some token effort, to assuade the wrath of their mistress. She gained the golden opportunity to do so when Ayşe Hafsa sent her to bring şehzade snacks – that afternoon, one of his former tutors taught him matrak, and Süleyman allegedly only ate a small amount from his lunch, surely he’ll be exhausted if he engages in such a heavy excercise on an empty stomach...? Mahidevran thought that sultana must’ve been at least partly sincere (mothers are the same everywhere – she herself worried about Mustafa’s diet and other minor inconveniences that might befall him quite often), but at the same time, surely Ayşe Hafsa expected more of her than that...

   Upon seeing Süleyman, what she was struck by first was the redness of his cheeks, heavy breathing and sweat glistening all over his face. He looked more alive than ever before, and the raw beauty of his visage made Mahidevran herself blush. When he walked up towards her, she bowed as deep and kept her eyes on the grass below as intently as never before.

„You’re Mahidevran, aren’t you? The friend of that clumsy girl who writes poems?“

„Yes, sir.“

He suddenly grabbed her chin and lifted her face to look into his, frankly, quite annoyed expression. Still, that touch made her shiver. „Am I truly so hideous that you’d rather stare at the ground when you’re talking to me?“

„Forgive me, şehzade!“ Mahidevran said in a somewhat higher and more nervous voice than usual.

„Have you told her what I ordered you to say?“

„Yes, sire.“

„And what did she say to that?“

„She will obey your command, my prince.“

Süleyman smirked. „We’ll see.“

   He then turned away, arousing panic in Mahidevran; she knew she must do something, anything to gain just a little bit of attention, for her own sake and Hüsnimelek’s. In that moment, her tendency to not think before she says or does something struck again. „She told me to say goodbye to you, for now she shall perish of shame and broken heart.“

Süleyman turned back towards her, his eyebrows raised quizically. „Did she? What, is she ill? Or does she by any chance have a penchant for exagarating things?“

„No, my prince, she was completely honest! You see, she is not ill at present, but her constitution is fragile and the next few days, mayhaps even weeks will be very hard for her, even if she manages to survive them.“

Süleyman’s eyes twinkled with mischief. „Keep me informed about her health, then. I would loathe to cause the death of such a lovely girl.“

   At that moment, Mahidevran found herself a go-between to the potential romance of Süleyman and Hüsnimelek – and she realized she didn’t like the thought one bit. Already she was infatuated with Süleyman’s beauty and spirited nature, and the touch of his hand turned her feelings from idle dreaming into darker, more possesive territory. She still wasn’t too optimistic about the possibility of experiencing his touch again, but heavens, she desired it more than anything else and the thought of her own best friend getting to feel much more than a single finger on her face filled Mahidevran with distaste unbecoming of a friend of hers. She thus didn’t inform Hüsnimelek about her encounter with Süleyman, instead lying that he barely noticed her – and surely enough, the next few days her friend held true to her proclamation of defeat, acting in a reserved and overly servile manner around şehzade. Unfortunately, Süleyman himself misunderstood it, as he revealed to her when he once walked out of his mother’s chambers and pulled Mahidevran aside. „She indeed looks quite melancholic. How is she doing? Is she healthy?“

„In perfect health, my prince, just a bit disappointed.“ said Mahidevran quickly.

„A bit?“

„Well, she is not one to speak much, you know? I cannot at present tell exactly...“

But her voice was somewhat shaking, and Süleyman noticed. „Are you lying to me, Mahidevran?“

His question threw Mahidevran out of the loop. „No! Majesty, what do you mean...?“

„You’re contradicting yourself, and even the tone of your voice is... Off. What does Hüsnimelek truly feel, can you tell me?“

Mahidevran blinked fast, startled by his accusations. „My şehzade, I swear, I am not...“

Süleyman looked displeased, making Mahidevran’s heart sink with despair. „Of course you can’t. I must therefore ask her.“

He tried to walk past her, but panicked Mahidevran stopped him. „Majesty, I lied the first time! She holds no strong feelings for you, and only aims to gain your attention because your valide ordered her. The poem wasn’t sincere...“

Süleyman smiled – a mischievious smile, young and heartbreakingly beautiful. „But it was truly moving, wasn’t it?“

He was close, so close, to Mahidevran, and yet also to her losing him forever. She couldn’t help herself. „It is not fair, it truly isn’t! Were I as good in poetry as her, I would’ve written you words a thousand times as moving, for I desire you so much more strongly, but I can’t, so you’ll never know...“

Süleyman let out a surprised laughter. „I certainly do now.“ His expression then changed into a more serious one, as he wondered out loud. „Mayhaps valide did send me the wrong servant of hers.“

Mahidevran felt an overwhelming desire to touch him, or heaven forbid even kiss him, but he only turned away, once again wearing his mischievious smile, and left Mahidevran’s proximity. In desperation, she touched her own lips, and upon imagining his fingers in place of hers, she let out a small sob. She felt like the biggest fool on the face of the Earth, and yet at the same time his comments filled her with more hope than she ever felt before. And the thought of possibly getting to know şehzade Süleyman biblically completely blinded her to everything else.

   But the next few days came and went without anything significant happening on that front. Hüsnimelek continued her attempts to make Süleyman notice her as little as possible, while he didn’t seem to think much of either of them. And so, as the wedding festivities of Şah sultan and Lütfi pasha came to a close and şehzade was getting ready to go home, Mahidevran had grown desperate to arouse şehzade’s interest once again, and after wracking her brain with what she knew about şehzade, she finally arrived at a quite radical solution.

   She got the opportunity to talk to Ibrahim on the last day of their stay at Istanbul. As luck would have it, Ayşe Hafsa sent her to retrieve from him an expensive turban pin Süleyman borrowed him for the festivities, which seemed to enrage her quite a bit. After Ibrahim refused to do so, confident in his assessment that şehzade wouldn’t want him to, Mahidevran decided not to press matter further, since it made her quite uncomfortable anyway. Instead, she bit her lip and quietly said. „I came here for our sultana, but I also need to talk to you.“

Ibrahim raised his eyebrows. „How come?“

„I know I cannot expect you to care for matters of the harem, and that it is not your place...“

Ibrahim smirked. „That is absolutely true... What is your name, anyway?“

„Mahidevran.“

„So, Mahidevran, if you already know all of that, what are you even doing here speaking to me?!“

„Because His Majesty trusts you like noone else, and if you took him to the gardens the morning after we return to Manisa, I would be extremely grateful. While I have little possesions, I would give all of that...“

Ibrahim’s response was sharp. „Do you have me for a common eunuch, girl?! I am not in the business of giving out favours to uppity little slave girls for pennies!“

„Ibrahim agha, you don’t understand! I was sent by Ayşe Hafse herself to persuade şehzade into, uh... More frequent fulfillment of his duties, I mean when it comes to siring an heir... If you helped me with that, you would most certainly earn her gratitude, and she’d forget the whole nonsense with the turban pin.“

„She’d forget that regardless. Knowing her, she soon forgets I exist too. I don’t matter to her any more than you do to me.“

„That’s not at all... Ibrahim agha, she is well aware of your exceptionally close relationship with şehzade Süleyman...“

Ibrahim’s voice suddenly took on a threatening tone. „Are you insinuating something by „close relationship“?“

Mahidevran gasped; she genuinely didn’t realize the possible implications of her words. „Allah, no! I meant... She thinks you are taking his attention away from women, but not in that way. That you are making him dream of anything but romantic avatures, not that you are yourself...“

„I see.“ Ibrahim said with fake thougtfulness. „And that is what our sultana genuinely thinks, not what you yourself assume, or have heard spoken about her alleged opinions from other slave girls, correct?“

„Ibrahim agha, I rarely leave her side, I’ve heard her say something along those those lines with my own two ears, multiple times!“

„But if I understand it correctly, you are revealing it to me out of your own volition, without your mistress knowing this, yes?“

Mahidevran was starting to get tangled in her own lies. „Well, I don’t suppose she would mind...“

Ibrahim raised his voice. „Oh, so you suppose?“ He leaned towards her. „If you truly need help with attracting Süleyman, all I can give you is a piece of advice. I did not strike a friendship with our şehzade by supposing or presuming what he thinks. I suggest you adopt the same attitude.“

   It was then that a not-at-all discreet cough interrupted them. To her horror, Mahidevran saw Süleyman behind her back (the whole time, she was standing in front of Ibrahim’s doorstep). „Mahidevran, what are you doing here?“

While startled Mahidevran was collecting her thoughts, Ibrahim spoke up instead. „She came here to ask me for that godforsaken turban pin on your mother’s behalf, and somehow the conversation turned towards sultana’s opinions of me.“

Süleyman furrowed his brow. „Tell mother it is my wish for Ibrahim to keep the damn thing. If she wants to dispute my decision, she should do so to my face.“

„But, şehzade!“ Ibrahim gasped with a significant undertone of mockery. „This cannot do! Ayşe Hafsa already thinks you favor me too much and that this causes you to completely forget the issue of utmost importance – harem women.“

Süleyman’s mouth opened a bit in shock. „She thinks what now?!“

Mahidevran bowed as low as she could. „Şehzade, Ibrahim is insinuating something that is not true and that I myself told him not to misunderstand sultana’s words as...“

„What did you tell him, then?!“

„Well, Ayşe Hafsa obviously does not believe you and Ibrahim... You know she would not let such a horrible thing stand... But lately you don’t seem to have much interest in women and, perhaps, this might be caused by you seeking out other sources of entertainment... Goodness, not that kind of entertainment...“

Süleyman blinked fast in annoyance. „Mahidevran, what are you talking about?! Are you lying about what other people say or think again?!“

„I don’t believe so.“ said Ibrahim, grinning mischieviously. „She does not lie, merely assume.“

Mahidevran’s eyes filled with tears. „Forgive me, şehzade! It is true that our sultana is concerned about your lack of... Apetites. But she does not think Ibrahim is at fault in any way, at least to my knowledge. I simply wanted to get him on my side by trickery, and only made a fool of myself.“

„Your side? You’d defy your sultana so, Mahidevran? You yourself said she wished for Hüsnimelek to become my concubine.“

„Perhaps I misunderstood your words, then.“

„What words?“

„You... You yourself said... I know it was merely an offhanded comment, but... You said something about a wrong concubine...“

Süleyman laughed out loud in surprise. „Goodness, you’re bad at this.“

Mahidevran started sobbing. „Indeed I am.“

Süleyman’s features softened. „Now, there’s no need to be sad. Or cause ruckus, for that matter. You’re hardly the only slave girl here full of misplaced ambition...“

Words left Mahidevran’s mouth before she could stop them. „That’s not ambition!“

„What?“ said Süleyman flatly.

„I’ve told you. I do not this because I wish to come close to the glory of your blessed mother, or because I would dream about holding a prince in my arms, or even to have an ear of the greatest ruler this empire has ever seen...“

Süleyman smiled in soft mockery of her words. „You think that is what I’ll be, Mahidevran? How do you know? You speak it with such certainty, as if you were the Cumean Sybil herself, when noone but Allah above knows what the future holds. Just you wait, I’ll end up defeated in a battle with some vicious barbarian warlord and locked in a cage like Bayezit Yildirim, and what will you say then?“

Mahidevran realized that what she needs to tell him now is simply the truth. „That cannot happen. I know this, because I know you. I may be a mere slave, but I have eyes and ears, and I saw you every day strive for greatness and show the wisdom and fortitude to achieve it... I know your drive, ambition and fire, and I would follow it even to that cage or whatever, because I adore it, not any advantages they might bring me and you.“

Süleyman looked surprised by her words. „Girl, are sure you wouldn’t be a good poet?“

Mahidevran bowed her head. „I’ve tried to put into a concise poem, my lord, but the result wasn’t worth much.“

He then turned towards Ibrahim with a look of amusement. „Well, then. That’s a lot of words you just said; I’ll need a while to think about all of them. At any rate, you should go back to your mistress. We are leaving very soon.“

   His words filled Mahidevran with anxiety. He was clearly trying to be mysterious, which could point to a wish for further relations. On the other hand, he could’ve just been having fun at the expense of a silly slave girl who thought he’d care about what she thinks of him. She sincerely wished she could discuss any of this with Hüsnimelek, but how would she even begin to explain the web of lies she tried and failed to set up, including at her friend’s expense?! However, Hüsnimelek couldn’t help but notice Mahidevran’s obvious distress, and her refusal to say anything only filled her with more concern. This in turn made Mahidevran prickly and throughout an almost two day journey a clear rift appeared between them. They didn’t have much time to think about it – on the road and just after arrival in Manisa, their duties kept them busy, and as soon as they were ready to settle into their old routines, things irrevocably changed.

   She learned only later that Süleyman discussed their encounter with Ibrahim on the way to Manisa. Süleyman confessed to her (while caressing her pregnant belly) that he had conflicted feelings about his low apetites in amorous matters previously; after all, while noone (at least if their intentions were any good) wanted him to spend all of his free time in harem, he nonetheless needed more than one heir – besides it was somewhat healthy and expected for a man of his age and vitality to parttake in this kind of thing more often and with greater enthusiasm. Otherwise one might suspect that there is something wrong with him, either a hiden illness of the body or corruption of the soul. Mahidevran herself later encountered similar problem with Mustafa, but her son lacked the self-awareness of his father and seemed satisfied with his life of sexual moderation, bordering on deprivation. While Süleyman wasn’t yet ready to share such intimate concerns with Ibrahim (who to his knowledge had no sexual experience at this point anyway), he did confess that he found most encounters with concubines rather dull and technical matters, and that his meeting with Mahidevran filled him with hope that it might be different with her. At the very least, Süleyman took of a liking to her somewhat, which is more than he could say about all of the obedient, duty-bound ladies sent into his bed by Ayşe Hafsa before Mahidevran. To Mahidevran’s surprise, Ibrahim not only supported Süleyman’s decision, but went a step further and aroused romantic fantasies in his master by expressing hope that this new girl might in time become dear enough to him to make her way to his poems. He himself allegedly used to have a few semi-romantic encouters with a lady far above his station, but that relationship had come to naught as she was married to another man and shortly before her wedding, he and said lady had a quarrel anyway. Mahidevran wondered whether Ibrahim’s feelings towards this lady might’ve influenced his advice to Süleyman in some way, but she never learned more than what Süleyman told her then – besides vague rumors surfacing years later that the aforementioned lady was in fact Şah sultan (who furiously denied it).

   At any rate, shortly after their arrival, Mahidevran was given the task of serving Süleyman and Ayşe Hafsa breakfast. The whole time, he was stealing glances at Mahidevran, untill he finally asked his mother if she considers any of her servants indespensible. Sultana cheerfully replied that none besides Daye, and was overcomed with joy when her son asked whether that includes Mahidevran. This made Mahidevran drop glass of water she was putting on a plate, earning a harsh scolding from Ayşe Hafsa – but Süleyman just laughed and requested his mother have her prepared that very night.

   And that was all it took. But as fortunate as Mahidevran knew she was, the suddenness of her luck soon overwhelmed her. Lacking any preparation for the night awaiting her and still thoroughly convinced of her own mediocrity, Mahidevran spent the entire day barely holding it together. Surely, her first halvet cannot but go poorly, and then what? At best, şehzade will never even look at her again – but there’s also the possibility of her doing something so embarassing she will be banished or punished in some other way. In her worst moments, Mahidevran even thought she might displease şehzade so much he’d order her execution; a silly thought, but spoke to her own docility, anxieties and the general disposition of all servant women. Had she let her fear go unchecked then, it would’ve become a self-fulfilling prophecy, but she managed to avert her own doom by speaking with Gülşah (of all people!). While the woman was never known for her intelligence and clarity of judgement, her point of view in this case proved to be remarkably sober. She reminded Mahidevran that she has nothing to fear but fear itself and that if she displeases şehzade, she could at least find companionship in several women from the Manisa harem who seemed to have done the same, most of them trough no fault of their own. Gülşah’s deep disinterest in the matters of the royal chamber was refreshing after a day of stewing in her own anxiety, and eased Mahidevran just enough for her to realize that everything will most certainly go more smoothly if she starts looking forward to the night instead. Surely, in a few hours, she will be kissed. She will be held. She will get an opportunity to look and touch Süleyman, as much as she wants to, the more the better. Or at least that’s how she assumed these matters work, for some reason.

   That evening, they dressed her in all white, in a rather common-looking (if certainly nice) dress, that she nonetheless chose to see as special; that silly thought helped her with anxiety too, since how could her life not change when she’s dressed in such splendor? Daye herself visited her before sending her off to Süleyman’s chambers, but she wasn’t very encouraging, just coldly instructing her on the relevant parts of the etiquette and making sure she knows about the basics of carnal matters. Mahidevran chose to not be bothered by her anyhow, focusing all of her attentions on Süleyman and the joy she’ll surely feel in his presence. Her doubts weren’t completely silenced, but their dillution sufficed to avert disaster.

   After a formal welcome, Süleyman led her to the bed. As they sat, looking into each other’s eyes in silence, Mahidevran was convinced she is going to explode if she won’t relieve at least a bit of the pressure inside of her, and so she let out a loud, nervous giggle – but then almost folded under Süleyman’s quizzical look. Luckily, he then spoke out, saving her from further embarassment. „I see your hands are shaking. Is it out of fear or joy?“

Mahidevran gave him a small smile. „What should I fear when your majesty is with me?“

Süleyman absentminded took a strand of her hair and started winding it up on one of his fingers, slowly tugging on it just enough for her to feel it, but not to the point of pain; a threatening gesture? „Said Majesty, perhaps?“

Mahidevran winced. „Have I displeased you, my şehzade?“

Süleyman smirked. „How could you? You haven’t done anything.“

„And should I?“

Süleyman gave her a somewhat bored look. „I don’t know. Say something clever.“

„Well, then all is truly lost, because I am not terribly clever.“

„I suppose that’s not completely out of the question. If I am not mistaken, you did not even know who Bayezit Yildirim was.“

Mahidevran hanged her head in shame. „No, I did not. But I asked other girls, who payed more attention at the history lessons, about him.“

„And? What did they tell you?“

„That he used to be the ruler of this grand empire when it wasn’t quite so great yet. Before even Constantinople belonged to us. They say he was a man of such immense ambition and hubris that he faced Timur the Lame, the bloodthirty ruler of Samarkand. But pride comes before the fall, and so Timur defeated him in battle, captured him and inflicted all manners of terrible humiliations on him. I don’t even know if it’s all true; to hear them tell it, it sounds more like a legend than anything.“

„Bayezit Yildirim did exist, and was indeed defeated by the terrible Timur. Whether he truly made Bayezit’s wife serve him at the table naked, whether he put Bayezit into a golden cage fashioned into a carriage and led him trough the city streets like a Roman general on a triumph, whether he used the unfortunate sultan as a footstool... That I do not know. What I do know is that us Turks need some good historian, for a civilized nation like ours cannot live off of legends.“

„Well, I suppose that’s one more thing that when sultan Selim...“ Tension, slowly leaving her beforehand, came rushing back as she realized the dangerous territory she was moving on. „Not that I’d wish for such a thing, heavens no, but death comes for us all and hopefully you will be there to take the throne after him. And when that time...“

Süleyman gave her a tired smile. „You don’t even know how often I told myself that, but alas, my father is still alive and the longer he lives, the more things I leave for the time of my ascencion. As it stands, by the time he truly leaves this Earth, it may well be I won’t have enough time myself to do everything I wish I could do.“

Mahidevran gave him a warm smile and took his hand. „That would surely be the most unfortunate not only for you, but for all of the future generations as well.“

Süleyman tugged at her hand and brought it to his lips. „Or, maybe, it would be the opposite, should my ideas turn out to be terrible.“ he said with a devilish smile before kissing her hand.

Mahidevran blushed. „I wish I could help you tell whether that is the case. Alas, I lack the expertise... Whose judgement do you trust so? Your mother‘s? That of you teachers? Or perhaps Ibrahim agha?“

Süleyman snickered. „Mine most of all.“ And planted a deep, passionate, endlessly confident kiss on Mahidevran’s lips.

   She thought the sheer bliss might kill her, or at the very least send her into a fainting spell. She thus grabbed his broad shoulders and squeezed them when he moved on from the lips to her neck. As a response to the squeezing, he wound his arms around her waist and caressed her back, slowly and gently. However, soon they moved forward, on her sides, and from them up, untill his thumbs idly caressed her small breasts. Only then did she realized the gravity of what was about to be done to her, and grew apprehensive. She was affraid that he wouldn’t allow her to pull back, but for once he did, leaving her blushing and appologetic. And so, she moved onto the bed and lied there, hoping it’ll let him do whatever he must – which turned out to be lying on top of her, unbuttoning her kaftan and more kissing, on the mouth, neck, the naked skin in the middle of her breasts, accessible trough a round hole in her dress between her clavicles and sternum. Soon, her impatiently unbuttoned her dress as well, which she then took off herself, along with the shift she wore under them. As she lied under him, blushing profusely, she decided to overcome her shame by helping him undress and touching him just like he did to her. After she took off his shirt, she reveled in the sights opened to her – kissing his broad, hairy chest and strong arms, her shyness slowly discipating as it was replaced by what she would now identify as arousal, but then was just a new, pleasant sensation coarsing trough her lower body. Still, it was quite a shock when he took off his trousers, spread her legs with one swift motion and just as uncompromisingly pushed herself inside her.

   Mahidevran didn’t remember whether she reached the climax. She remembered liking the experience overall, but perhaps she had just forgotten any unpleasantness of that night; at any rate, she certainly cherished the other two times it happened that night more, mostly because she was much more confident and relaxed during. Their subsequent encounters lit such a fire within her young body that eventually, she was becoming too much even for Süleyman, which he seemed to take in stride – better to have a woman that is overeager than overly cold, he said, because a woman’s nature is better suited to deal with overabundance of lust than with its lack. Indeed, quite a lot of women he encountered seemed to suffer with some illness, that denied them natural impulses of this kind, he said. As she grew older and more knowledgeable, Mahidevran realized that his somewhat callous approach to concubines might’ve been to blame; Mahidevran herself could do with little prompting or stimulation, since she was completely smitten with him, but other women might not. (She tried to talk about these matters with Mustafa, but whether he took her advice to heart she did not know.) Either way, Süleyman at least didn’t begrudge his lovers this supposed affliction, mostly because he himself seemed to suffer from it, though meeting Mahidevran helped him greatly.

   Still, while he enjoyed her company, he didn’t seem that attached to her and often sought out other women (which bothered her, but she could do nothing but cry to Gülşah about it), untill a smallpox epidemic hit around a year after he came to Manisa. It took little Murat and several slave girls, including Hüsnimelek, whose illness progressed so quickly Mahidevran didn’t even manage to patch up their friendship and say her final goodbyes. Süleyman thus found in her the ideal person to share his grief with; obviously, her losing a friend could not compare to the death of one’s own child, but she realized it and extended much more sympathy towards him than he did to her. And to his credit, he showed her care and understanding as well, something she’d never expect from a prince. It was only then that she gave her entire heart and soul away to him, and she didn’t manage to get it back for almost two decades.

   Mahidevran wasn’t in a mood to reminescence about those happy couple of years that followed. She recalled them often, to the point that they now seemed like a book she read a few too many times. But this much needs to be said – he loved her, for a brief period, but he nonetheless loved her. He used to write her poems, shower her with gifts and compliments, and even let her bother him with her petty complaints, sometimes, when he was in a mood. For a time, he even eshewed other concubines, though that didn’t last, even before Hürrem came to his life. Perhaps she was foolish to think that this bliss would last forever, but how could she not when even the night before his departure he looked into her eyes with such love she would, at least for a moment, almost believe herself his equal? And for that matter, how was she to know she’d be replaced so suddenly and thoroughly?

   It wasn’t of much importance in the present, anyhow. Mahidevran might have regrets about those days, but there was no denying they charted the course of her future forever, and brought her the arguably best thing in her life – Mustafa. For all of their little quarrels and cold shoulders he gave her sometimes, he truly was the love of her life (in some senses of the word), the one for whom she truly lived and should’ve done so all this time, just like Ayşe Hafsa tried to advise her all those years (though admittedly that was just what she meant, it came out sounding quite different, which is why Mahidevran never managed to listen to her). But such is life. Her old friend Ümmülgülsüm once said that in her country, they have a saying: „Everyone is a general after the battle.“ At least she knows what’s important now.

   The morning after, during breakfast, she turned towards Mustafa with a smile. „It’s such a lovely day. Do you have much work now, my lion? I thought we might go for a walk in the gardens. I want to tell you a story.“

#magnificent century #mahidevran sultan

[magnificentcenturyfics]

Remembering Gübahar, part 1/2 - Circassian Beauty

Description: Mahidevran's backstory, as headcanoned by me. Featuring OCs and period typical attitudes so fair warning.

***

„Where are you from, anyway?“

Mahidevran has never been asked that, and she doubted any other sultana ever was. Women from high status families didn’t care, and elevated slaves such as herself knew better than to talk about certain things; for them, in silence was the solidarity. Only in the darkest of nights and trough the quietest of whispers, when as almost children they had to face their demons in the impersonal space of communal bedrooms, they dared to speak about it, and they did so with the utmost reverence and care for the then still fresh scars in their hearts – it was important that while they touch them, the stitches do not come off. It figures that Gabriella de Sfeo, who knew neither fear nor shame and who was so familiar with their society, yet understood so little of it at the same time, would be the first person she’d hear the question from.

   Mahidevran thus answered with only a practiced smile. „Ah, does it even matter, signora?“ Gabriela raised an eyebrow, unmoved by Mahidevran’s attempt to placate her curiosity. „It doesn’t, which is why I find it all the more strange that you’d be reluctant to tell me, sultana.“ „Oh, I am not!“ Mahidevran exclaimed, trying desperately to not sound defensive. „It’s just... Well, I need to talk to you about something else entirely, and now you are asking me to tell you some long-winded story, of which half I do not even remember, to tell the truth...“ „Oh, I do not need the whole story, sultana! Simply tell me, where you were born and of what nation.“ Mahidevran’s distaste for her curiosity (which must’ve been visible on her face) seemed to only feed it. „Surely, you must’ve shared this amusing little fact with other women of your station, have you not?“ Mahidevran pursed her lips together. Maybe it was just her imagination, but Gabriela sounded almost... Accusatory. „I do not keep any secrets from you, signora, or anyone else. I came from this palace, where my son was born and where His Majesty graced me with his love and care. Anything else, which might’ve come before, is irrelevant.“ Gabriela only smiled. „And yet...“ „Yet what?!“ „You are not willing to divulge such a pitiful nothing of an information in a casual conversation.“ Mahidevran raised her voice. „Signora de Sfeo, I value our friendship, and it deeply saddens me that you are apparently willing to sacrifice it for your own nosiness...“ „Nosiness?“ Gabriela chuckled. „Alright, then. I appologize, sultana, if in my question I might’ve been forcing you to reveal something shameful...“ „My past is not shameful, signora!“ said Mahidevran harshly. „I don’t know what kind of scandal you imagine me hiding about my younger years, but rest assured, they were perfectly ordinary and no different from any other woman here-“

   She cut her impassionate refute of Gabriela’s assertions in the middle, because despite her best efforts, signora made her admit things she didn’t put into words even in her head for all of those years. As a result, she was in such foul mood she needed to end her meeting with signora as soon as possible and order a glass of boza, which she had not drunk since she first got pregnant and elevated over her peers. If she was going to wrestle with unbidden memories called upon by her declaration, she might as well do so with a spot of something nostalgic, so to speak.

   It was perhaps for the best that she had no memmories of Circassia. She knew girls who remembered their homelands, even at the house of Zahide hanim, who raised most of her slaves just like she did Mahidevran. It wasn’t pretty, watching them when they first came; the lucky ones only cried a lot, especially at night, some also woke from nightmares, but it wasn’t rare for them to be... Broken, in one way or another. To not speak, or to only speak rarely and in that strange heavy monotone that she imagined rocks would have if they could speak. Or, on the contrary, to live in a constant state of panic, suspicious towards everyone and everything new, slow to trust and quick to attack (on the receiving end of these Mahidevran had found herself more often than she can count). One of her teachers seemed almost normal, except for the fact that she was obsessed with the idea of her or her surroundings catching fire, so she unlit every candle or fireplace that she could, making them shiver in their clasrooms and go to bed much sooner than even Zahide hanim ordered – and God forbid one of them didn’t do the same! They called that woman insane behind her back, and she might very well have been, but then, at least she had some company in that in Zahide hanim’s household. Of course, the woman had been a slave for years at that point, and most girls she met recovered much sooner... Eventually, Zahide hanim found her hysterics tiresome and had her sold away, never to be seen again. The woman seemed sad, but not as much as Mahidevran would expect; then again, for her, leaving Zahide hanim was at that time completely unimaginable, and all in all the worst thing that can happen to her, up to and including death.

   Mahidevran grew up as an orphan. She did not know if she in fact was one – it’s possible that somewhere in those massive green mountains Mahidevran’s mother or father still cried for her even after four decades, miraculously surviving whatever act of brutal violence led to her enslavement and living the rest of their life in mourning. That thought used to bother her once, when she was still small and trying to reconcile the theoretical concept of a normal family with the fact that she only had a mistress and fellow pupils. Her head back then was full of fantasies, about that place she knew little of and people who might not even be in the realm of the living anymore. With Zahide, she was always unsure of whether she could tell her about something so silly, but luckily when her fellow orphan Gevheri asked her mistress about their origin, she was rather understanding. Zahide patiently explained that she herself did not know anything about where they came from, except for the location; the man who sold them said no more than „this girl is named thus and is of that nation“, and that was, allegedly, for the best. After all, were they really convinced that learning of the home they did not have anymore and family they could not possibly ever come home to would make them feel better in any way? Nevertheless, she was then kind enough to tell them their names and places of origin – and so Mahidevran knew her parents, whoever they were, named her Sataney after a pagan goddess, information interesting enough to retain, but otherwise rather useless. Only much later, when she was sent to the palace of şehzade Süleyman, did she learn more. Upset at leaving the only home she had known, Mahidevran talked back to Zahide in a manner she never dared to before, leaving her mistress to lose her patience and scream at her the words Mahidevran never forgot.

„I am a daughter of a sultana, and you – who are you?! Some peasant girl from a burned village, taken as a war prize by a barbarian prince from the mountains, for whom serving my food and fetching my slippers is the best fate that might’ve befallen you...“

   Mahidevran did not know if it was something Zahide knew with any certainty, or if she just speculated based off of the fact that this was where most of the famous „Circassian beauties“ came from. Much later, as the mother of beloved şehzade Mustafa, she heard people spreading rumors about her having royal blood in her veins, but she was quite sure that wasn’t the case. If the slavers got their hands on an actual princess, they would mention it – after all, think of the price they could ask for such a girl...! Besides, the odds weren’t in her favour in this case. There was only so many princesses in Circassia, and peasant girls must‘ve outnumbered them greatly. No, Mahidevran sultan was no Ayşe Hafsa, she could not place herself above every other woman in the harem on her origins alone. But that is not to say she wasn’t better than them in some regards.

   Zahide hanim had planned out the education of her subjects to the smallest details. Cared for by the best teachers she could find amongst the eunuchs and slave women of Istanbul, Mahidevran and several other girls were schooled in good manners, rhetoric, religion, literature, Persian and Arabic languages, embroidery, music and dancing, as well as receiving some limited instruction in mathematics, history and philosophy. Admittedly, Mahidevran was never good in any of it, frustrating teachers with her slow and reluctant adoption of any „serious“ subject, and only ever truly excelling in the art of embroidery. But she was not completely immune to the effects of rigorous education she received at Zahide hanim’s household – unlike Hürrem, she at least never had any trouble keeping up with the ladies of high breeding, even if she could not measure up to the likes of Şah sultan or Ibrahim pasha. At any rate, she wasn’t top of the class by any means, and she didn’t manage to distinguish herself outside of classroom either.

   At any given moment, Zahide hanim cared for about a dozen slave girls of various ages, the relations between whom were always rather precarious. In their small, closed off collective, every friend was the dearest, most beloved person in the world (except for their mistress, of course), but every foe was in turn one more reason to despise even being alive. They could not torment each other openly, of course – not only for the fear of punishment, but also because the conscience of even the worst of them would not allow such severe transgression against their mistress. Instead, they attacked their foes only with more moderate weapons, but that much more relentlessly; Mahidevran spent her entire youth under the barrage of insults, petty pranks and small injustices, inflicting them in turn whenever she could. Unfortunately, she lacked inventiveness or quick wit, so she wasn’t any good in this kind of quiet warfare, which led to her relying on either inflicting physical violence on her foes (a difficult task for someone as small and unintimidating) she would then do her best to conceal or friendships with girls smarter than her. She got lucky in this regard: being naturally withdrawn, she never had many friends, but she managed to arouse the feelings of protectiveness in an older girl named Ümmülgülsüm, big, burly Greek known as the self-appointed peacekeeper of their group. Much like Mahidevran, she wasn’t good at any of the school subjects with the sole exception of embroidery, which (or so Mahidevran suspected) made her see herself in little Mahidevran; however, unlike her, Ümmülgülsüm was quite good at exerting authority over the other girls thanks to her size, common wisdom and dignified demeanor. Being her favourite was often the only thing standing between Mahidevran and relentless bullying, so naturally she had grown quite attached to Ümmülgülsüm. She stayed longer than any of her peers, too, which was lucky, because Mahidevran could not even imagine spending even part of her early youth relying only on herself.

   Even so, nothing lasts forever, and Ümmülgülsüm left when she was eighteen and Mahidevran herself only twelve. It happened so suddenly – one morning, an overseerer told Ümmülgülsüm to pack her things and then wait in Zahide hanim’s chambers. Once she left their common room to see their mistress, she only came back to say goodbye, explaning in a hurry that she was sold to pasha so-and-so and that they may not see her again. Mahidevran could not stop crying the rest of the day, no matter how much the overseerer tried to assure her what happened to Ümmülgülsüm will happen to every one of them eventually, and that it’s only for the best that she has gone off to do what she was always raised for: keeping company to men of high standing. Mahidevran remembered her old friend after giving birth to Mustafa, and so used the modicum of power given to her by this fortunate event for ordering aghas to locate Ümmülgülsüm at pasha’s household. It turned out that the elderly pasha has kept her as a concubine, a duty which she loathed with every fiber of her being, but luckily his failing health soon barred him from this kind of entertainment, relegating Ümmülgülsüm to a mere servant of pasha’s eldest daughter – an all around better mistress than him, if Ümmülgülsüm was to be believed. Alas, her lowly possition meant that she wasn’t able to maintain regular contact with Mahidevran, but at least her old protector was content with where she ended up.

   Regardless, Ümmülgülsüm’s sudden departure left a profound impact on Mahidevran. It was probably the first time she really thought of how fickle the fate is, and what that word even means. Fate, she realized soon, weren’t just the whims of nature, her own body or the supernatural, no; her fellow human beings could be the fate, if they are powerful enough. Questioning, for example, Zahide hanim, was just as futile and borderline blasphemous as questioning Allah above. Or that was what she told herself – really, the only alternative was to blame Zahide hanim, perish the thought. Unlike Hürrem, Mahidevran wasn’t defiant by nature, and with the exception of a few cases, such as the aforementioned incident around her departure, she had only ever shown perfect obedience towards Zahide hanim; a fact which, admittedly, might’ve surprised anyone who had known her in the Manisa palace.

   She was around eighteen when they were rounded up on Zahide’s orders in a courtyard, where they were visited by a burly older woman, who, as Mahidevran thought upon first seeing her, had a somewhat frog-like face. From her dress, Mahidevran could immediately tell she isn’t particullarly wealthy or important herself – this confused her at first, since how could someone ordinary even afford Zahide’s girls, who, as they were themselves told, meant for the most elite of households? And yet, there the woman was, eyeing them all critically and with a rather obvious intent of taking one of them away. Before she said a word, Mahidevran realized the woman must’ve been an attendant, sent by someone else, either because they weren’t able to come, or because they were too important to bother with such things. Nevertheless, she would never have guessed the identity of the woman’s mistress, since it was one of those things one would be too bold to even dream about, and Mahidevran was never much of a dreamer anyhow.

   The woman looked less than impressed by them – and sounded so too. „Is this everything you have?“ Zahide hanim pursed her lips together. „Daye hatun, I know there aren’t many of them...“ „I was talking more about their quality than quantity, hanim.“ That hurt, though Mahidevran told herself that perhaps it wasn’t that the years of being told how beautiful, well-educated and all around exceptional they are were all lies; after all, what if the woman was just of an exceptionally curmogeonly character? (It was only later, when she was charged with buying slaves or really anything expensive herself that she realized talking cargo down was a standard practice for savvy buyers.) „I know they don’t seem like much compared to other girls dressed up to the nines by their owners, but consider, I only let them parade around you in such simple getup because I would not dare deceive you with makeup and jewelry into believing they are more beautiful than they are...“ The woman remained absolutely deadpan. „I do not think it’s the way they are dressed, hanim.“ Zahide hanim raised her eyebrows. „You do not consider them good enough? Well, that is unfortunate, but I suppose I cannot change what your eyes see. Shall I bid you farewell, then?“ Daye’s smile was slight, but still notable on her previously less than amused face. „Well, I suppose some of them are at least acceptable.“ She scaned them quickly with her gaze, then pointed to Mahidevran and two other girls. „Take those three to the hammam. I need to see... More of them, if you understand me. Just so I can be assured they are healthy and... Well, an all around quality material.“

   Mahidevran shivered at the thought of standing naked in front of the woman’s cold amphibian eyes. One of the other girls, Neslihan, outright defied the order and made a scene. The good news was, she didn’t have to stand naked in front of the old woman, but the whipping she was punished with was so brutal it hardly seemed worth it; really, even not knowing what she knew now about the strange woman’s identity, Mahidevran would still prefer standing naked in front of her for a few seconds than suffering so much pain she’d vomit. Mahidevran actually liked the spirited girl somewhat, so when she later visited Neslihan in the sickbay to make sure she’s well, she didn’t dare mention the opportunity the girl passed over by her defiance – though she must’ve found eventually. It was one of the cruelest punishments she had seen Zahide mete out, and though she could understand somewhat her anger and need to look tough in front of the representative of Ayşe Hafsa herself, she was still disturbed by the sight of Neslihan’s utterly butchered back. She suspected that might’ve contributed to her later outburst, which caused her to part with her beloved mistress on bad terms.

   Regardless, back in the baths, after looking around their bodies with a cold, clinical gaze, Daye proclaimed. „Ah, to hell with it. Let me take them both. What are they called, anyway?“ „The skinny one is Gülbahar, the other one Gülruh.“ answered Zahide. „So, two roses, then?“ noted Daye with a humorless smile. Then she turned towards them. „I know it might not seem that way, but this is the luckiest day of your life. Get dressed and then pack your things. You’re joining the household of şehzade Süleyman.“    Mahidevran almost fainted at the information. However, she overcame her dizziness and shaking feet, when the older woman saw her distress and propped Mahidevran up by her own shoulder. „Pull yourself together, girl. Where are you from?“ „Circassia, mylady...“ „One would think you of stronger stuff, considering you were born in the mountain air.“

   Just like Ümmülgülsüm, she was given only a short time to pack her bags and say her farewells. Though her mind was aware that, just like Daye said, she indeed got very lucky, she certainly didn’t feel it that way. Instead, she was grieving losing almost all of her friends, but also fearing disappointment – from her own side, if service in the royal household wouldn’t be as glamorous as she imagined it to be in the past, but more importantly also from the side of her new masters. After all, it would be bad enough to embarass herself in front of any high-born lady or gentleman, but sultan’s wife and eldest son...? She then briefly visited Neslihan, and as one negative emotion built upon another, it only took Zahide hurrying her up without any patience or understanding for Mahidevran to lose her temper. Mahidevran didn’t suffer any real consequences for it, as she left soon after, but she never forgave herself for the fact that this was the farewell she had given to the woman who raised her in her own household, perhaps not as her own daughter, but certainly not without affection. Or so Mahidevran chose to believe, as sometimes she had to argue over this point with a small voice in her head that doubted her most sincerely held beliefs. She suspected most people have such a voice in their head; perhaps it is the devil speaking, as Ayşe Hafsa once told her, but more likely it is just their reason overdoing it sometimes. After all, there is no sin in doubt, only in succumbing to it.

   Road to the royal palace in Manisa was rather short – around an hour in the carriage, certainly not enough for Daye to provide them with a comprehensive lesson on palace etiquette, much as she tried. She told them it would be a few months untill they could properly serve şehzade and his mother; in the meantime, their lot was to live amongst other low-ranking servant girls, doing chores, fulfilling small tasks and attending some lessons. Daye was andamant that they do not think themselves better than the other girls just because they have a guaranteed spot in sultana’s vicinity, and should she catch them causing unnecessary ruckus, the best they could hope for is losing that spot. Mahidevran’s heart sunk with every minute she spent in Daye’s company. It was one thing to leave the only home and almost all of the people she had known, but to exchange one mistress whom she loved dearly for this frog-faced harridan? (In hindsight, she considered her judgement of the venerable Daye hatun almost amusing in its wrongness and inappropriateness, though in fairness, she could not have known better.) Her first meeting with Ayşe Hafsa didn’t fill her with much hope either – the old woman took one look at the young women brought in front of her and apathetically ordered Daye to show them their rooms. Only later did she learn that valide just arrived in Manisa in the aftermath of her husband’s ascencion and after the bloodshed that followed, she wasn’t inclined to concern herself with the day-to-day running of the household. Nonetheless, at the end of the day, as she and Gülruh walked the gauntlet of curious slave girls to the common sleeping area, their meager belongings in hand, Mahidevran didn’t feel much optimism about her future.

   At first, it seemed to have been warranted. The girls around her regarded her and Gülruh with curiosity, as unlike most of them, they didn’t come directly from the market, but were bred for service – a fate which the girls enslaved later in life could barely fathom. At every meal, they bombarded both newcomers with questions, which made Mahidevran profoundly uncomfortable. On the other hand, Gülruh answered them much more readily, soon earning her quite a lot of friends and immensely helping her adjust to their new home. This aroused jealousy in Mahidevran, which only made those first few months that much more bitter. Thus alienated from the only person she truly knew in this unfamiliar enviroment, she turned towards other outcasts of the palace, the chief among them a put-upon servant named Gülşah.

   She first stood out to Mahidevran by being somewhat more pudgy than most of the other girls, as well as by the fact that the rest of them acted as if she was disseased. When she once asked Gülruh about her during a meal, her old aquitance laughed. „Gülşah? Allah, don’t come close to that one. She was sent away from Topkapi as a punishment for constantly getting into fights, and even here noone likes her. If the girls saw you two together...“ ...they would’ve left me alone, she finished that sentence in her head.

   It was a spur-of-the moment decision, really. Gülruh barely moved another spoon of pilav to her mouth when Mahidevran got up from her seat and resolutely sat by Gülşah’s table. This move surprised her new companion so much that the only reaction she managed was a confused stare. Mahidevran for her part enjoyed having a silent companion at first, untill Gülşah broke the silence. „You’re the new one?“ Mahidevran didn’t react at first, slowly realizing she had no plan how to proceed with her new aquitance. She only nodded her head and tried to focus on her meal, hoping the situation settles itself somehow. Gülşah seemed slightly hostile, her anger dampened by the pleasant surprise of finally having someone at her side. „What are you doing at my table?!“ „Why? Do you want me to leave?“ Gülşah slowly blinked. „No, I mean... Why me? Why sit here, at this place?“ Mahidevran only shrugged. „You’re quiet. Everyone has been so annoying since I came here, I hoped that maybe you are different...?“ „I guess I am, but...“ Her eyes trailed across the room. „That’s because noone wants to talk to me out there.“ „Why?“ She seemed upset by that question. „The hell if I know. Ask them.“ „I already did.“ After a moment of silence, even more awkward than the first, Mahidevran tried her best to break it. „They say you used to serve at the palace of sultan himself.“ „And? All of the other girls did too. Well, I mean there’s that bitch Yasemin and her friends, who already served the prince in Kaffa... And Gülfem, if she comes back from Istanbul.“ „Why? What does she do there?“ „Sleeps with şehzade, probably.“ she shrugged. „If he still wants her, that is.“ „Why wouldn’t he?“ „I mean, they’ve been together since Kaffa, maybe he’s tired of her or something. I don’t know, and honestly I don’t care about that kind of stupid gossip. I am not his concubine, and never will be.“ „Why are you so certain of it? I think you’re actually quite pretty.“ Gülşah’s eyes widened and cheeks turned light crimson. „Uh... Thank you.“ She drank from the glass of water near her plate, collecting herself. „But you’re probably the only person who thinks that. Everyone else calls me an owl and teases me constantly. Well, at least they used to – I... I made them stop.“

Only later did Mahidevran learn that Gülşah knows the other girls continue laughing at her in secret, she just didn’t care. If she couldn’t have any kind of respect, she was aiming for at least a small amount of fear; just enough that noone dared say anything to her face.

   From their first conversation, Mahidevran felt a strange draw towards the other girl. She could not properly explain it back then, aside from the fact that, as unpleasant as Gülşah could be, the hate towards her was nonetheless disproportionate. But when Gülruh asked why it must be Mahidevran herself who compensates for this unjust treatment, she had no proper answer. Her old aquitance must’ve thought her mad, to cling so closely to the one so hated by everyone else, even if Gülruh never said it out loud and most certainly didn’t leave Mahidevran’s side because of it (by then, Gülruh’s popularity was such that even association with Mahidevran couldn’t have undermined it). In hindsight, Mahidevran became certain that her inexplicable affection for her might’ve had something to do with the memmories of Ümmülgülsüm, which Gülşah aroused in Mahidevran despite having very little in common with her old friend. To put it simply, Mahidevran might’ve felt that it was time to pass on the protection she received and become a protector herself. A lookback at those times also revealed that she shouldn’t have bothered, but how was she to know Gülşah’s true nature back then? In day-to-day interactions, Gülşah didn’t seem all that bad – perhaps a little slow, and clinging to her only friend with a bothersome tenacity, but nonetheless surprisingly kind and caring. She shared Mahidevran’s passion for embroidery, and they had many a pleasant conversation in the corner with their threads and needles in hand. Finally accompanied by people who knew their way around the palace, Mahidevran started to get used to her new home; after all, in principle it was hardly that much different from the old one, up to its surpringly small size (harem in Manisa back then was staffed by never more than twenty women and ten aghas, and even now held only slightly more people).

   A few weeks into her stay in Manisa, şehzade Süleyman returned. Mahidevran barely saw him at first, since even during their rare encounters, she had to avert her gaze – besides, being young, naive and under the influence of tall tales during which maidens fall for handsome youths (as well as youths for maidens) at a mere glance, she was affraid of looking at a man who will likely never be hers for long. She tried not to think of him, to supress the myriad of questions she had about the master of not only this household, but soon the entire empire, and in this Gülşah was actually very helpful. Always aware of her supposedly plain looks (even if Mahidevran herself wouldn’t judge her so harshly), she didn’t dream about becoming a concubine, and several forgotten one-night women in harems of both Süleyman and his father only strenghtened her convinction that sultan’s bed simply isn’t worth fighting for. She seemed quite ambivalent about şehzade himself, too; when asked about him, she just shrugged. „He has beautiful eyes, I suppose.“ Then and especially now, Mahidevran found a certain kind of wisdom in Gülşah’s sober attitude towards the fate of concubines. Nonetheless, just like many girls around her, she could not help but look with immense jealousy at Gülfem and the newborn prince Murat she brought from Topkapi. Bearing a prince, after all, was the most women like them could strive for, and even besides that, the baby was the most loveable little thing Mahidevran had ever seen (presumably because she didn’t have to change its nappies and listen to its cries deep in the night). It was then that she slowly started to wonder what it would be like, to know a man and have a child of her own? The thoughts of this kind crept at her mind steadily, with Mahidevran herself fighting them at every turn, but she could never banish them for good.

   Eventually, as she and Gülruh properly started service in the entourage of Ayşe Hafsa, she got her first good look at şehzade Süleyman – and she was almost instantly smitten. Gülşah’s comment about his eyes was appropriate, yet somehow she forgot to also mention his elegant, yet manly profile, charming, approachable smile and tall figure, which was also decently built, though she didn’t have the pleasure to see it for herself untill later. As a servant of Ayşe Hafsa, Mahidevran was in Süleyman’s vicinity quite often, and was able to observe him quite closely, although he didn’t notice her at all. There was a strange kind of one-sided intimacy between them, as Mahidevran soon recognized all of Süleyman’s quirks and little ticks, whereas she was a non-entity for him. She also became somewhat knowledgeable when it came to his habits and personality.

   Şehzade Süleyman was a bright and lively youth, whose duties as governor couldn’t truly exhaust his endless supply of energy. Whenever the oportunity arose, he participated in more ambitious projects than was usual for a sanjakbey, which left his mother greatly concerned, as she knew her husband’s temper and soon realized Süleyman’s activities were seen as threatening by the paranoid old sultan. Süleyman once bitterly compared his father to the ancient pagan god Kronos, who, having deposed his own father Uranos, swallowed all of his children soon after birth so they would not do the same to him. Of course, his fear may or may not have been justified given that his wife managed to save his youngest son and, just as the old man feared, Kronos was cast down by his own son. Though Süleyman didn’t have the same intentions, he must’ve known that this comparison was unintentionally self-flattering; after all, in this story, he paralelled none other than Zeus, the king of gods and patron god of kings. Süleyman certainly dreamed of greatness – he strived to be not only a great conqueror like his father, but an arbiter of law and culture for centuries to come. Not having the oportunity to influence either much, Süleyman instead simply worked as hard as he could, and when he ran out of work, he instead took to writing poetry and surrounding himself with books and scholars.

   Süleyman also loved hunting, just like Mustafa, and indeed also became overly fond of his hunting companion, just like his eldest son seemed now. Of course, that was a bit unjust comparison – Taşlicali, for all of his inarguable literary talent, was as humble as he was dense, while Ibrahim even as a simple falconer lacked neither pride nor intelligence. Then again, the same could be said about their masters. In any case, Süleyman’s deep friendship with the young servant, together with his relative disinterest in women, created some truly vile rumors, of course only whispered quietly among the slave girls whenever their superiors were far away. After all, when Gülfem bore him a son, he lost all interest in women of the harem, and around this time he also brought Ibrahim from one of his hunts (cue the jokes about him „catching a fine stag“). Ayşe Hafsa probably didn’t know about these rumors, or else their perpetrators would suffer with their lives, but at the very least, she wasn’t satisfied with the future of the dynasty hinging on a single child. She reminded Süleyman of his duty to sire healthy sons as often as possible, but he didn’t seem very receptive; in fact, the more insistent she was, the more time Süleyman spend with everyone and everything else but harem concubines. If Mahidevran were to guess now, she would say he simply found mere intercourse unexciting and always needed more than a beautiful young body to arouse his senses. Süleyman craved emotions. Süleyman craved stories. Süleyman craved drama. And though Mahidevran didn’t know it yet, she was about to provide him with everything he wanted and more.

#magnificent century #mahidevran sultan

[magnificentcenturyfics]

Forrests of Manisa

Description: Mustafa x Taşlicali fic, with an explicit sex scene.

Since he has been told about his disgraceful reassignment to Amasya, and though he and Yahya rarely talked about it, there was no need to. Yahya himself wasn’t too happy about it. After all, besides the obvious injustice and weakening of his possition as heir at a time where having his inheritance challanged was the last thing Mustafa needed, there were other, more personal – some would even say pettier reasons to be unhappy. Şehzade and his mother had been in Manisa for about seven years (not counting his regency in Istanbul during the campaign to Persia) and had created a network of friends and loyal attendants there, of which some they could take with them as part of their retinue (including Yahya himself, thank the Almighty), but many they could not. General populace too loved the prince more in Manisa than in anywhere else, if things Yahya overheard on his walks around town were any indication – though even in Istanbul, people were at worst indifferent towards him. Though truth be told, unless they were one of those types who amused themselves with the most outlandish rumors about the exploits of „the Ruthenian witch“, common people cared little for which şehzade will ascend the throne. In fact, the general consensus gleamed from his least priviledged aquitances was that sultan Süleyman has brought the land such peace and prosperity than once he passes away, things can only go downhill.   Yahya, of course, never talked about it so openly, at least not front of Mustafa himself. Instead, when asked about public opinion, he comforted his şehzade with half-truths; his father sultan Süleyman is quite popular and so is Mustafa. Indeed, some common people (well, one person – Yahya himself) say that sultan Süleyman is merely Philip of Macedon to Mustafa’s Alexander... No, of course his transfer to Amasya won’t make people think any less of him, on the contrary, everyone can see what great injustice is being done to him, which if anything could make people support him more... At any rate, his final verdict on the matter of transfer to Amasya was thus: „After all, people are much the same in Amasya as in Manisa. People, and woods...“ „Indeed, Yahya, woods are much the same everywhere, but I have no idea why it should be of any comfort to me.“ replied Mustafa gloomily. Words „it used to be a source of much comfort to you after Ibrahim pasha died“ almost found their way onto Yahya’s tongue, but luckily he managed to bite it before then.   Because sometimes, woods are in fact just a collection of trees, but these past few years certainly not to them.   That spring and summer was filled to the brim with all kinds of unpleasantness for şehzade. He was still reeling from losing his son and having an attempt on his life remain unpunished when Ibrahim pasha unexpectedly fell out of favour and was executed for an offence sultan refused to disclose. Noone, not even pasha’s own wife, seemed to have understood this decision, except as a favor from the sultan to Hürrem sultan – yet another victory for the scheming consort whose lust for power and revenge seemed to know no bounds. Taşlicali’s aquitance with pasha was brief, but fond; either way, he was much more angry for Mustafa’s sake, as şehzade obviously adored the deceased pasha and was devastated by his death like noone except pasha‘s wife and children. Taşlicali has never seen Mustafa cry, but the morning after the news reached Manisa he could not help but notice his master’s red eyes and pale face. Taşlicali did not tell anyone, though perheps he could’ve; there was no shame in it, after all. Everyone knew of pasha’s closeness to şehzade, some even said that’s why Hürrem orchestrated Ibrahim’s unjust execution in the first place. Mustafa himself suspected so, as he openly discussed with his most trusted people – a group which, to his surprise, included Taşlicali.   Mayhaps it was that he has lost the appetite for women after Helena’s departure and his own mother could not provide him with a silent, unjudgemental ear that he needed. Mayhaps separation from his brothers fed his craving for a brotherly... Or, well, close male presence, anyway. Mayhaps the discovery of a spy in his private chambers made him desperate for someone, anyone he could not possibly suspect of anything bad, and Taşlicali fit that description for some reason he could not fathom (was it really just their past as comrades-in-arms from so many years ago?). Either way, as guarded as Mustafa was, he had quickly become less so in Taşlicali’s company. From the begining, it was an odd frienship; Mustafa sometimes pretended to be interested in his poetry as a mere polite conversation starter, but he clearly never wanted to actually hear or read it – and Taşlicali soon realized şehzade, not an artistic soul, but cultured enough to appreciate a good verse from time to time, simply doesn’t like Taşlicali’s works. Instead, he was much more interested in Taşlicali’s military career and thoughts on warfare and imperium, neither of which Taşlicali talked about with great enthusiasm, but he at least listened to Mustafa’s thoughts on these matters with enough polite interest that it must’ve satisfied the prince nonetheless. Soon, he invited Taşlicali to a small sparring session with swords, then another longer one, and in the end they spent many summer mornings in passionate embrace of their weapons... Indeed, prince was never as radiant as when he tired his deceptively lean body in vicious pretend combat, his cheeks flushed behind a long, beautiful beard and dark eyes rivaling the night sky with their sparkle...   Then Hatice sultan arrived, and one of his concubines started to near childbirth – small annoyances that nonetheless made Mustafa less and less keen to spend time in the harem. He stayed in the palace only to prepare for the campaign, and when his father arranged the matters otherwise, Mustafa simply couldn’t bear it any longer. His departure must’ve worried Mahidevran sultan a lot, being sudden and in the company of but a few attendants, but Mustafa didn’t seem to mind. It seemed a temporarily decreased safety was worth saving his sanity from the many frustrations, big and small, bothering him in those months. The hunt only lasted about a day, and it left şehzade with a considerably better disposition, so while Taşlicali understood his mother’s worries, he nonetheless considered it a wise decision on şehzade’s part.   The poet himself was charmed by the beauty of the woods surrounding Manisa and impressed with Mustafa’s skill as a hunter, even if he himself did not share it, to şehzade’s amusement. Mustafa’s gentle ribbing did not hurt Taşlicali in the slightest – on the contrary, he joined in on şehzade’s affectionate laughter, his heart warmed by finally seeing him happy. When they settled in for the night, Taşlicali found himself Mustafa’s closest companion by the fire and the one with whom şehzade shared tales of his past and future, memories of childhood in the palace he now lived in and dreams of glorious conquest that was surely to come, should he escape Hürrem’s clutches and become his father’s successor. In turn, Taşlicali shared the mundanities of his own life, from a lonely childhood in the house of his bad-tempered unmarried uncle, trough his youth, when he first took both a sword and a pen in the hand, to the current, perhaps happiest period in his life. When he told Mustafa his presence has brought him more joy than he has ever felt before, şehzade clearly considered it merely a figure of speech, part of an overly polite manner in which courtiers talked to the members of the dynasty. Doubtless he had heard such talk many times before and had learned since an early age to disregard it – which saddened Taşlicali somewhat, since for once, a courtier in question was completely sincere. On the other hand, he was honored by şehzade’s keen interest in his past despite the fact that he himself assessed it as at once bleak and mundane. Mustafa even seemed to express some sympathy towads him, a soldier of little renown whose primary claim to fame – his poetry – şehzade wasn’t even that impressed by.   Taşlicali spent the entire evening gazing into Mustafa’s face, and the more he looked, the more impressed he was by the symetry of his features and his lively, intelligent eyes. That morning, he woke up before şehzade, and couldn’t help but visit his tent under the guise of Mustafa’s safety, only to spend several minutes studying what little he could see of his beauty in the dark room. He did come to his senses soon and left with neither Mustafa nor his guards the wiser, but the glimpse of şehzade’s peaceful visage and rose-tinged cheeks and lips kept coming back to him at the most inopportune moments.   Regardless, the hunt didn’t seem to mean much to Mustafa at first, and even its soul-rejuvenating effects didn’t last long. In but a week, he was suddenly of even worse disposition than before, and when Taşlicali suggested another small hunt, his face lighted up with something sinister. „Why, of course, Yahya! A day and a night almost alone, solely in the company of my dear friend, must indeed lift my spirits. Go tell captain of the guard to pick four of his best men; we’re leaving tomorrow.“   This time, Mustafa suggested they sneak away from the guards to pursue a roe deer. He did not seem in mood for a lark, but Yahya thought it is perhaps just that the tension his regular existence in the palace was arousing in şehzade hasn’t quite left him yet. Surely, being alone (with Yahya, apparently) should let him enjoy the beauty of nature in peace and relieve this tension, no...? As they were sneaking behind the bushes, watching the roe deer intently, Mustafa suddenly said. „If I remember correctly, we have both been wearing a scarf on our last adventure together.“ „Indeed.“ Taşlicali suddenly winced. „Oh, heavens! I remember now taking one that looked similar, but now that I think about it, not quite like mine. It must’ve been yours, Your Majesty, was it not...? Allah, this is horrible, I swear I did not...“ Mustafa shut him up with a stern glare. „No matter. You’re not to blame for this, I’ve taken yours by mistake first.“ „Oh. Well then... I suppose you wouldn’t want me to disturb our entertainment? I will keep in mind that when we return to the palace...“ „Actually, I wanted to return said scarf to you first.“ said Mustafa, loudly and pointedly, which made the roe flee – but şehzade payed no mind to it anymore. „So I snuck to your room when you weren’t there, hoping to avoid any awkwardness for both of ours sake. You have hidden my scarf very well, Taşlicali, and in searching for it I went trough many an interesting corner of that small space. Including the one bellow your coal basket.“ Yahya furrowed brow in confusion. „Did you find something there, Your Majesty?“ „Very interesting things, Taşlicali.“ He reached behind his belt and revealed a piece of paper he has apparently been hiding there. Mustafa then turned the text on the paper towards Taşlicali. Oh, how I wish I had some of your way with words, my dear soldier! Then perhaps I could’ve written you with the same delightful mastery about my feelings for you; truth be told, I am growing quite bored of repeating „I love you“ endlessly. Alas, this letter of mine will be short, as I have little news and even less thoughts worth sharing, but I know you will be happy to simply remember me, or at least I hope so. It probably would’ve been for me had it not been for your silver tongue and golden quill... Taşlicali went pale. During his relationship with Mihrimah, he doubted many times whether to continue risking his head for a mere courtly romance, and in one such fit of pessimism, he decided to end their flirtation and keep what he planned to be her second-to-last letter – so that it would later not seem like a mere dream that he, soldier and mediocre poet Taşlicali Yahya, was truly loved by sultan’s sun and moon. Next morning, he came to his senses and tried to find the letter with the intention to burn it after all, but could not find it even after hours of searching. Every day since, he alotted at least some time to searching for it, untill he consoled himself with the thought that if he could not find the damn thing in his own room, noone else could even by accident. This seemed to be an unforgivable error in judgement...   Yahya tried to ignore the tremors of his hands and icy river replacing blood in his veins, reign in his panic and consider the options in front of him. He could not deny the authorship of the letter, not to Mihrimah’s own brother, and to beg for mercy would no doubt only compound Mustafa’s disgust with him. No, if there was any chance at all to come out of this alive, he needed to face the truth like a soldier. Mustafa’s eyes were two dark arrows, hitting the hard shell of his heart, cracking it open and letting the rot inside spill out of it. „Do you have a death wish, Yahya?“ Taşlicali bowed his head in shame. „Your Majesty... What I’ve done cannot be forgiven, and I would not dare ask you such a thing. However...“ „However what?!“ „...before my sinful soul leaves my body, I wish you’d hear me out, so that you know what exactly I am guilty of. I am not trying to make excuses, şehzade; on the contrary, I’d like to confess...“ Mustafa raised eyebrows, now as impatient as he was angry. „So have you, or have you not disgraced my sister?!“ He tucked the letter back into the belt and picked up bow and arrows. „You have nothing to gain by lying; just for throwing her honor into question, you have signed your death sentence, which I will execute here and now, as soon as you finally stop talking.“ And with these words, he took a few steps back and posed as if he was to about to raise his bow at any moment.   Taşlicali was suddenly gripped with a strange feeling – some fear, yes, but mostly shame and infinite sadness. Mustafa has given him so much over the past few months, treated him with such genuine affection and interest, and yet here it was, the proof that Taşlicali Yahya never deserved any of it. His sudden coming death was hard to come to terms with, and yet, it was the least Mustafa should’ve punished him with for his foolishness. It wasn’t even a bad death, he thought before opening his mouth for what he was sure were his last words. For how bad could any moment, even one’s last, be if he is graced with the look of Mustafa’s beautiful eyes? „I had reached for her heart with my tongue and quill many, many times, but my body had not touched even a tip of her little finger.“ Mustafa’s anger seemed to discipate somewhat. „You had not even kissed her?“ „No, my şehzade.“ „Why? You must’ve known it would not have made a difference.“ „It might’ve, had her handmaidens told Hürrem sultan. And I had not felt the urge anyway.“ „But you felt the urge to send her love letters?! What kind of a fool you are, Yahya?!“ Yahya lifted his head and shyly looked into Mustafa’s eyes, hoping şehzade won’t take his need to see şehzade‘s beautiful face at the moment of his death for any kind of boldness. „I am a poet, Your Majesty. Forbidden love of an artist to a sultana is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever beheld – the kind of event that the greatest epics were written about and most esteemed masters of our craft have used as inspiration. So what of it if I see nary a thing about Mihrimah that would’ve made me interested in her as woman, if her inner life remains as unknown to me as it is uninteresting and if I find her, from our admittedly brief and shallow aquitance, not that different from many other women I’ve known in my life? She is a sultana and I a poet. When a chance encounter brought us together and she was interest in continuing our meetings, I could not pass the opportunity should it kill me, regardless of what I might’ve felt or not. Let this be my final words, my şehzade: I did it for the craft.“ Mustafa seemed stunned at first, then burst out laughing. „Oh, and the poems you read me, for those Mihrimah was an inspiration, you say?“ Yahya slowly bowed his head, still in shock. Was he by any chance forgiven now? Mustafa started wiping away tears of laughter. „Then, my friend, I am sorry to say you are not, in fact, dying for the craft, since what I’ve heard from you can scarcely be called that.“ He then put the arrow back into the quiver and bow on his shoulder. „Oh.“ said Yahya, staring at şehzade. He never had the honor to see şehzade laughing, and that, together with seeing Azrael’s veiled face move further away from his and dissapear into the mists of unknown future, suddenly made him smile as well, regardless of the mockery he received. „I am not dying for anything at all, then?“ Mustafa’s laughter slowly discipated, leaving but a smile on his face. „For now... If you left nothing out of your confession and only told the truth, as all good muslims should before meeting our maker.“ He came to Taşlicali and gave him a pat on the back. „I shouldn’t have doubted you. I shouldn’t have...“ His gaze suddenly trailed off into the distance. And Taşlicali, overwhelmed by the prince’s beauty, simply had to say something. „I shouldn’t have given you a reason to doubt me in the first place, my şehzade. I wish I would’ve gotten to know you sooner, so that my esteem of you would’ve prevented what my feeble mind could not.“ „Would it, truly?“ said Mustafa, surprised. „I earnestly think so, my prince, though of course only the allmighty Allah knows for certain. In any case, throughout this spring and summer, my adoration for you has risen a thousandfold and hopefully my ability to resist romantic tomfoolery with it.“ Mustafa was back to his usual, somewhat humorless self, as if his previous fit of mad laughter never happened. „Why? Am I some kind of good influence on you? If you must know, I have done my share of mistakes in this regard...“ „I ended my relationship with Mihrimah sultan out of love for you, my prince.“ said Taşlicali somewhat more impassionately than he perhaps intended. „How come?“ „The matter became known to people outside of us two, and I couldn’t risk getting entangled in some sort of dirty game because of it. So I told her farewell and we neither spoke nor wrote to each other no more.“ Mustafa seemed thoughtful, and somewhat softer than a few moments earlier. „I might’ve been touched, Yahya, had you not admitted earlier that it was all just a lark to you.“ He suddenly turned away from Taşlicali and started walking back to the tent, with Taşlicali in tow. A few seconds later, he added, seemingly deep in thought. „Of course it was. You poets wouldn’t know love from... Ah. Have you ever even been in love, Taşlicali?“ „It’s hard to tell, my prince. Comrades in arms can develop bonds as deep as any marriage, but I don’t think the character of these can be described as akin to romance. It certainly lacks certain... Aspects, but then so does courtly love, if I am not mistaken. Other than my fellow soldiers, I have never loved anybody – maybe my parents, but both died too young for me remember if I did, or anything about them, really...“ Mustafa bared a soulful gaze into Yahya’s eyes. „It is a sad life you led indeed. But somehow I don’t think you missed much, with romance in particullar. I have been in love before and did not find the sweet worth the bitter, though it might well be that I had simply gotten unlucky. Though, mayhaps if I had gotten too lucky, I would’ve ended up like my father, and that also wouldn’t have been good.“ „Well... It seems to make His Majesty happy, at least.“ Mustafa let out a chuckle. „I wish, but even then, I am not sure whether she is worth the trouble she causes to everyone, including our sultan.“   They looked at each other and saw in each other’s eyes such profound understanding that Mustafa, seemingly unable to help himself, pulled Taşlicali into his arms, head leaning against the poet‘s shoulder. Taşlicali, first stiff and frozen in surprise, eventually relaxed and realized how pleasant the feeling is. Even disregarding the peculiar, but undoubtedly precious honor of being hugged by the member of the dynasty, Mustafa held him so tight and yet so gently it made Taşlicali at once fully comprehend the very concept of tenderness – something which he so far have experienced very little of. „I appologize for scaring you like that, Yahya, but you must understand... There was no other way to make you tell the truth. God, I am so sorry. You did not deserve this. You did not deserve my doubt.“ His words made Yahya want to kiss him, somewhere, anywhere, everywhere... But once again his feelings did not get the better of him, and when they went back to the tent, they were able to pretend nothing happened a little longer.   The bubble burst that night. Mustafa invited Yahya over to sleep in his tent, in a cot right next to his. That alone made Taşlicali giddy with happiness – what better music to fall asleep to than prince’s breath? But as soon as they lied down and the tent fell into darkness, Yahya heard a collection of sounds alltogether different from what he expected: first, the shuffle of blankets, then quiet knocks of legs falling onto the floor, another shuffle, then something nigh imperceptible (which, in hindsight, were probably steps of bare feet on the floor of the tent) and finally the same collection of sounds backwards. Before Taşlicali realized what was happening, Mustafa was lying down right next to him, touching him, then embracing. Yahya froze in shock, which seemed to give Mustafa pause. „Yahya?“ he whispered. „Should... Should I move away?“ If anything sinful happens later, Taşlicali thought then, and I say yes to what he’s doing right now, I am going to be complicit. It was a short thought, and very weak – it was easy for it to be suffocated by another, much more prominent one, a rebuttal his conscience had no answer for. He didn’t want to say yes. He wanted to shout it. „Of course not.“   Mustafa breathed out a warm, heavy sigh, burrowing his nose into the nape of Yahya’s neck. Yahya in turn touched Mustafa’s hand, which landed on his belly when he wrapped his arms around Yahya’s waist, and caressed it, so that Mustafa knows he can and should move forward. It truly seemed to have emboldened him, as Mustafa soon planted a first shy kiss onto the bared part of Yahya’s clavicle. He continued up his neck, slightly higher and deeper each time, untill Yahya couldn’t handle it anymore and turned in his arms to kiss him on the lips, deeply and passionately, holding Mustafa’s face with one hand. After a while, all of that kissing, touching and grinding against each other grew from a series of gentle, loving gestures to something darker, as Yahya felt in both his and his new lover’s trousers something truly heinous and unbearable, yet sweet – a rotten fruit of a tactile sensation, truly. For a moment, a little cloud ran trough this unnaturaly bright heaven – to put it simply, fear of being sodomized, but thankfully no such thing occured even at the height of their passion. Instead, Mustafa’s hand slithered down Yahya’s trousers, baring his penis, then touching it so softly and lovingly it made Yahya burrow his head in Mustafa’s embrace and sigh into his chest. Then sighs turned into moans, which then became louder and louder, so much so Mustafa had to turn Yahya on his back like a woman, then cover his mouth (which he did not do with women, hopefully). With the one way trough which it could be even slightly eased blocked, the pressure inside of Yahya rose incredibly quickly, and a few minutes later, only Mustafa’s coarse breath and his own quiet „ah, ah, ah“ underscored the deep, sinful extasy he let flow trough his entire body.   He then suddenly rose, firmly turned Mustafa on his back and did the same his lover did to him, devoid of all the residual shame that might’ve stung him beforehand. They did not talk during (there was no need – as soon as they were established to be in a mutual agreement, there was nothing to add), and afterwards they fell asleep soon after Yahya gave back the pleasure Mustafa had given him. That morning, facing the bright light of day and sanity that came back with it, Yahya felt so ashamed of the previous night that he simply couldn‘t talk about it, and Mustafa seemed satisfied with silence as well. Slowly, it was as if an unspoken understanding was built between them – of what they did, what they felt for each other and their need not to tell a living soul.   From then on, they only ever made love in the woods. Their encounters sometimes differed in the position they found themselves in and the time of day; they actually seemed to do it during the day more often than in the night, sneaking away from the guards into some isolated corner that even wild boar never roamed into. Otherwise, however, each of these cases resembled one another to an unusual degree: few stolen kisses, quick movements of hand, a moment of pleasure and back to reality you go, boys, the reality where you are but a prince and his favourite companion, without any trace of euphemism in Yahya’s aforementioned title whatsoever. Mustafa still visited his harem – infrequently and seemingly with some distaste, but after his second child turned out to be a girl, he needed a son more than ever. He came back to Nergisşah’s mother more often than the others, and for a while seemed charmed by one Rumeysa hatun, but he never liked any of them enough to be called a favourite. After a few years, he stopped spending nights with Ayşe altogether, and Rumeysa ended up dying of smallpox, with Mustafa strangely giving that name to another woman, a girl of low status that had the fortune to get pregnant from only a night or two spent with him. Taşlicali never thought of these women as his competition – Mustafa needed an heir from them and companionship from him, and for a while he thought they could not gave him the latter any more than Taşlicali could’ve given him the former.   But it was a foolish thought. Obviously, a woman need not share a man’s interests in manly pursuits to be a good companion whom he loves and respects – but also, just to prove Yahya wrong further, there was indeed a lady just around the corner that was, in fact, eager and capable in manly pursuits. And that’s when things got interesting.

#magnificent century #şehzade mustafa #taşlicali yahya #mustafa x taşlicali

[magnificentcenturyfics]

AU: Nigar Finds Her Daughter

For @faintingheroine - and everyone else that wishes for our best girl to have at least somewhat happy ending.

They said Gördes has many ruins – a wonder for the goatherders tending to their flocks in the mountains around the city, but a rather obvious fact for someone as educated as Nigar, considering the city was an ancient one. Nonetheless, it was one thing to silently laugh at these remarks from the poor seamen manning the ship she was traveling on, and quite another not to be impressed by the countless remnants of an era Nigar has so far only read about. Istanbul, while ancient, still wasn’t that old. And she needed to do some sightseeing first, because that seemed to be the best way to calm her nerves. After all, she couldn’t allow her daughter to see her as a nervous wreck.   Nigar’s Greek was a little dusty since she left sultan’s harem (after all, most Greeks of Istanbul spoke Turkish just fine, and there were little to none far east in Diyarbekir), but she could manage. She got the directions to Nicolaos efendi’s house from a girl she found by the local well. He actually lived fairly close to the port, since as the girl said, he was a tradesman, who transported the goods from the port to the towns and villages all around the province. The girl also said Nigar got very lucky, since this was one of the few times the man was home. With a heart threatening to jump out of her chest, Nigar turned to Nicolaos‘ house and silently prayed like she has never prayed before. It seemed a miracle was about to happen.   The door to Nicolaos‘ house was opened by a very thin woman in white dress with colourful embroidery, so typical of the women from the area. „Good evening. Is Nicolaos efendi home?“ she asked. Woman raised her eyebrows. „Who are you?“ „That’s hard to… Eh… Explain. His brother. He knows me.“ „My husband has no brother.“ „Ah, just… Tell Nicolaos efendi Nigar hanim is here. He’ll know.“ With a suspicious look on his face, the women returned to the house. When she came back, she seemed even less friendly than before. „He doesn’t know any Nigar hanim.“ Nigar had to try very hard to compose herself. „He forgot me. Maybe. I’m Esmanur’s mother.“ „Who is Esmanur?!“ „A girl lives with you. Your husband takes care of her…“ Nigar thanked God for his mercy, as the woman finally seemed to have understood. „How old is that Esmanur of yours, exactly?“ „About seven years old.“ „Ah! That would be our Theodora. Anyway, wait a minute, please.“ And with that, she left, but the door stayed open.   Soon, Nicolaos efendi appeared in the door. Nigar had to try very hard to compose herself; the man was truly the spitting image of his brother, just as Matrakçi told her. „Good evening.“ she said in Turkish, voice still shaking. „My name is Nigar, and I used to… Know your brother. I was told my daughter lives with you, is that true?“ Luckily, the man was fluent. „Well… Probably. If you are who I think you are, that is. Either way, come in. We can talk this over coffee.“   It was a modest house for a tradesman, with bare white walls and simple, barely decorated wooden furniture. Still, Nicolaos‘ family did have a servant girl (even if it was probably just the one), so they had to live at least somewhat comfortably. In the hallway, Nigar saw two boys playing hide-and-seek, one still a toddler, the other one barely older. „My sons.“ said Nicolaos, while leading her to the kitchen. Nigar smiled. „They’re adorable. Do you have any other children?“ „No, not really. A daughter of my relatives lives with us, since she has no other family – poor child. So she’s yours, you say?“ He suddenly hushed his voice. „Does that mean, that you are… You know… That woman Theo told me he loved?“ „Theo is what he was called before they took him?“ asked Nigar equally silently. Nicolaos led her to a room, where he sat her at a small, shabby table. „Yes. My… My brother.“ She heard his voice shake a little.   Nicolaos‘ servant girl came almost immediately, and Nicolaos ordered her to make coffee. Then he turned to Nigar. „I’ve always wondered what you looked like. What kind of woman could make my brother turn his back on a sultana, even if it was just for a time?“ „Are you dissapointed, efendi?“ asked Nigar mockingly. „Truth be told, I don’t want to talk much about pasha – may Allah have mercy on his soul. He won’t come back from the grave, but me and my daughter are still here, though without her I might as well have been dead all those years we have been separated…“ „Why didn’t you seek her out sooner, then?“ „Efendi, believe me when I say that if I could, I would’ve, but I was forbidden from doing so by circumstance and people far more powerful than you can even imagine.“ Nicolaos didn’t answer right away, instead he spent about half a minute thinking. „Alright, then. I guess there’s no reason to keep her away from you. If you could wait here, just a second…“ He went out only for a moment, before she heard a loud „Theodora!“, the sound of a running child, and some Greek that she didn’t completely understand. Her hands started shaking and her sight went blurry with tears. It’s been so long… They probably won’t recognize each other. She made her peace with that on her way there, although it still made her feel like her throat was refusing to work.   But when she walked in there, alive and so, so beautiful, Nigar couldn’t help herself. She immediately ran to her and took her in her arms, before Esmanur could do anything. Startled girl fidgeted in her arms, and when Nigar tried to kiss her cheeks, she flinched. „Uncle, is that her?“ she asked in Greek. „My mum?“ „Yes, dear.“ Esmanur looked at her in disbelief, and Nigar’s heart broke. „Really?“ „Yes! Sweetie, it’s me, your mother, and…“ Nicolaos gently cut her away. „She can’t speak Turkish.“ Nigar looked back at her daughter, now with the same shock and disbelief Esmanur had on her face. Esmahan seemed disappointed. „My mum is a Turk?“ „Yes… No… Ah, it’s complicated.“ said Nigar, still shaken. „I am from Istanbul, everyone there speaks Turkish.“ „Because aunt Eirene doesn’t like Turks. She always says they are greedy, vain and whatnot.“ „Aunt Eirene says a lot of things.“ interjected Nicolaos. „Especially when someone makes her angry. But she doesn’t always mean that, does she?“ Nigar, meanwhile, awkwardly put the girl down. She thought she braced herself for this kind of response, and worse, but it was quite another thing to have at least some of her fears to come true. „So… They call you Theodora, I’m told?“ she said, swallowing the urge to cry. „We never expected Thea’s mother to come back for her. Nasuh efendi didn’t tell us much, besides the fact that your husband wouldn’t allow the girl to live with you. I just… Assumed I might have to take care of her permanently.“ said Nicolaos defensively, almost offended. Nigar couldn’t hold back tears anymore. „Per… Perhaps you’re right. I didn’t know if I’d ever see again either, back then.“ Esmanur was confused. „What are you talking about? You know I can’t speak Turkish, right? Mum, why are you crying?“ She bent towards the little girl again. „Because I love you. And I missed you.“ Her poor Greek really wasn’t sufficient to explain all of the other emotions she felt, but a seven-year old probably didn’t need an explanation more elaborate than that anyway.   After a moment of silence, the maidservant appeared with the coffee. Nicolaos efendi shot a pointed look towards her. „So? What now?“ Nigar’s voice was hushed. „Can I get a moment alone with her, before we get to discuss any… Plans for the future?“ Nicolaos‘ face suddenly gained a cheeky expression. „Well, I do have a couple of truly splendid mules in my stables. Thea, sweetie, would you be so kind and show them to Nigar hanim?“

Unsurprisigly, the girl wasn’t too enthusiastic about the animals, but then, Nigar wasn’t either. They only stayed there for a short while, before Nicolaos efendi sent a maidservant with the message that the coffee is getting cooler by the minute – but Nigar was thankful for every second. She was relieved to learn that Esmahan’s guardians took good care of her. Nicolaos was truly like a father to her, and although Esmahan wasn’t as close to Eirene, his wife, she didn’t experience any unkindness from her, either. The girl herself was a cheerful, somewhat mischievious child, obviously thriving under the care of her uncle and aunt. Nigar’s joy was, however, tampered by the knowledge that this goes directly against her plans for the future.   When she returned to Nicolaos efendi and his coffee, he sent the girl away. „Did you come all the way just to see your daughter?“ he asked. Here it comes… „No, of course not. I do plan on taking her home.“ „She is home, Nigar hanim.“ He sounded so impatient… „I suppose that depends on your definition of home, but either way, I am her mother, and it’s only right that she should live with me.“ Nicolaos raised his eyebrows. „Are you sure about that, Nigar hanim? After all, I am her family too, and she barely knows you. Besides, it is hard for a woman to be alone in this world – let alone with a child that depends on her.“ „Rüstem pasha will take care of me, as it is the custom for former husbands and wives.“ said Nigar in a raised voice. „And as for her not knowing me – well, that is none of my fault, efendi! We’ve been separated by fortune, and fortune is now bringing us together. Please, don’t stand in its way.“ Nicolaos glowered at her. „You want what is best for Thea, don’t you?“ „How can I not? She is my child; of course I would never…“ „Then how do you not see what you are doing to her?! We are the only family she ever knew, Nigar hanim! You are going to break her heart…“ „And what of my heart, efendi?! Do you think I am not going to love her, do you think I won’t be a family to her?! She’s still young, she still has time to get used to me and the life in Istanbul! Besides, it’s not just mother’s love that compells me, but duty.“ She didn’t want to pull out this one. She didn’t want to play dirty. But threatened with losing her daughter once again, she got desperate, and the words just poured from her like blood from a cut vein. „You named her Theodora, is that true? Why didn’t you let her keep the name her father gave her?“ „It was safer.“ said Nicolaos with obvious uneasiness. „We didn’t want her to keep any reminders of her father, since Nasuh efendi warned us about his enemies and the possibility they might find her…“ „Is that the whole truth, efendi? Were there no other reason whatsoever?“ „Well, this town is also mostly Greek, and we wanted her to feel like part of the community.“ „Ah! She must’ve felt especially welcome after you had her baptised, as Nasuh efendi told me.“ Nicolaos‘ face went pale. „As I’ve said… We only wanted her to feel welcome.“ Nigar’s resolve only wavered for a second, before she went for the throat. „Is that so? Well, Şahhuban Sultan will surely understand.“ „What does she have to do with this?!“ „I am her… Well, it would probably be a little presumptuous to call myself her friend, but a client, certainly. Either way, she would never allow for the child of late great Ibrahim pasha to grow up as an infidel, and I am not keen on this prospect either.“ Nicolaos‘ horrified expression gave a rather strong blow to her resolve, but then she thought about the alternative. There was no way for both of them to walk out of this conversation satisfied. It was him or her, and when faced with every other such dilema, she never hesitated to pick herself. „Eirene was right.“ he said, voice shaking with a mix of shock and anger. „Damn you Turks. Damn you all. And I don’t care what you say – you are a Turk, just like the lot of them. You are a Turk, just like our boys become them, when they are taken from us, then taught your godforsaken language and religion, and come back with swords and pistols and bloody hands…“ „That was quite enough, efendi.“ Nigar said, raising her voice once again. She then drank her coffee in one gulp. „Now, would you be so kind as to call Esmanur back?“

Esmanur’s reaction to learning she has to leave her home forever almost made Nigar go back on everything she promised herself. She could not stand to see her beloved child cry, or plead with her father, or curl up to a ball under her bed, from which her sobs echoed throughout the house for several heartbreaking hours. But then, Nigar had thought of everything. She knew the girl wouldn’t take it well, she even had this entire plan about how to soften the blow of her daughter losing everything and everyone she ever knew… She should probably do the smart thing and put it in practice. After all, she couldn’t just leave without Esmanur. „The girl obviously isn’t ready to leave.“ she said to Nicolaos efendi. „But I do have some money. I can stay for a few days, untill Esmanur… Adjusts to the situation.“ „You are a fool if you think a few days would be enough…“ „I don’t need her to be happy with it, that is certainly impossible. But maybe I can make her understand, even like me a little…“   Nigar was a master on making lost young girls accept their unfortunate fate and new home. For years, it was one of the most important aspects of her job. And while she has never been so emotionally invested in them (besides the fact that most of them were teenagers rather than little kids), she would be lying if she said there was never any pity or sympathy on her part before. After all, she knew very well what it’s like to be in their place.   First, on her visit in the morning next day, she acted uncertain in front of the girl, giving her a faint hope – though she never promised anything – that maybe she didn’t need to leave if she really, really didn’t want to… Instead, Nigar asked Nicolaos efendi for her daughter to be excused from all chores for her entire stay, and took the girl for a walk around the time, asking her to point out the notable spots in town – the church, the inn, the wells, the like. When the girl wistfully noted she never had the opportunity to see the fortress of Acrocorinth in the hills around town from up close, since Nicolaos and Eirene never had the time or interest, Nigar made a spur-of-the-moment decision to make her dream come true. It was quite a long trip – about two hours just to get there – and at times she had to carry Esmanur on her shoulders, but as Nigar expected, it improved their relationship greatly. She let the girl talk her ears off with her little child complaints and observations, enjoying every little detail she learned about her. To her delight, Esmanur gradually perked up, and when they finally reached Acrocorith, she was downright extatic, wondering at the sheer size of the fortress. Nigar herself wasn’t this happy for years. Once they came back to town, they stopped at the inn where Nigar was staying, because she wanted to give the girl a gift she bought her in Istanbul – a cloth doll in little pink dress. Esmanur did own some toys, a small wooden wagon and a crudely made figure of a coachman, also made out of wood – but no actual dolls. That’s why Nigar’s gift made the girl so happy she, for the first time in her life, hugged her mother.   The next day, they had a lunch together at the inn, and then went to the beach, where Nigar watched Esmanur play with local children and answered all of her questions as best as she could. She told her she and her father were very much in love, but her father already had a wife, so when Nigar got pregnant, he found her a husband, so that he could be Esmanur’s father instead. But her new husband was a treacherous, evil man. He conspired with the enemies of Esmanur’s father in order to get Esmanur’s father killed, so he can have his power and riches – by the way, Esmanur’s father was rich and powerful… Either way, Esmanur’s father died tragically, and since she couldn’t live with this evil man, she was sent to live with her uncle, given a new name and hidden from her father’s powerful enemies. To a seven-year old, even this overly simplified version of events was quite a lot to process, but it seemed she didn’t regard it as anything more than an exciting tale and, thankfully, an adequate explanation for her mother’s absence. The question of name and religion turned out to be a bit harder – although Nigar told Esmanur her father was a muslim, and wanted her to be raised as such, in the five years without him, the girl naturally grew much more attached to Jesus than her dead father (which frankly was more of a testament to her disinterest in Ibrahim than to her interest in religion). In the end, Nigar was at least able to make her daughter accept the name Esmanur, but had to outright lie to her regarding her religion, promising her to not force islam on her. And maybe it wasn’t a lie at all; Nigar had no intention of forcing anything on her daughter, she would simply raise her into a muslim, as naturally as a tadpole grows into a frog.   The third day was the hardest; the day after that, Nigar planned on leaving, and she had to dash the hope she fostered in Esmanur. „It should be you who tells her we are going home.“ she told Nicolaos efendi. „You are almost a father to her; she will listen to you far more easily than to me.“ Nicolaos, however, didn’t take it very well. „You force me to give her up, and now you want me to explaint it to her?! No. If anything, that’s your duty, not mine. You go and face her tears – after all, you are the one who caused them, not me.“   Late in the morning, Nigar found Esmanur by the well, playing with the neighbourhood children. She stood by the well and called her daughter to her side, nervously squeezing the hem of her cloak. „Yes, mum?“ said Esmanur, eyes bright and curious. „Sweetie, there is something I must tell you.“ She dropped to Esmanur‘s level, gazing into her eyes intensely. „We had fun together, hadn’t we?“ Esmanur excitedly nodded her head. „Do you think I can be your mother now? Not just for now, but forever?“ „But… You are my mum…“ „What kind of mother would I be, if I just left you here and never came back?“ „You can’t come back?“ „Once I leave? No, sadly, that’s not possible. Istanbul is too far away, and I don’t have the money to visit you often.“ „But… I don’t want to go to Istanbul! Why do I have to leave aunt and uncle? Muuum…“ Esmanur was on the verge of tears. Nigar took her in her arms. „Esmanur, my beautiful daughter, don’t cry! I am sorry I wasn’t there for you for all these years, but now I am going to make it up to you! And one day, I promise, if you behave yourself, your uncle will come to you…“ Esmanur blinked sharply. „You… You promise?“ „Yes…“ After a short, pause, Esmanur petulantly said. „I still don’t want to go to Istanbul!“ „You can’t stay here! Your uncle wants you to be with your mother too!“ This obviously hurt the girl. „Uncle Nicolaos doesn’t want me anymore?!“ „No! Of course he would be glad if you could stay with him, but you can’t! He knows you’ll be better off living with your mother.“ „But why?!“ „Because she loves you more than anyone ever could.“ After a minute of awkward silence, Esmanur seemed somewhat sheepish. „I don’t love you.“ „Look, I understand that. You can’t remember how I sang you to sleep, how I nursed you when you were sick, how I bought you treats and would do, anything, everything for you… You were just too small when they tore you away from me. But… We can still go back. I will teach you to read and write. I will show you the greatest city on Earth, and let you meet princes and princesses. And I will love you, I will love you so much, like noone ever could… That I promise you.“ Intentionally tearing her own heart apart, she reminded herself of the moments they spent together when Esmanur was little, of all the of the times her daughter was forcibly taken from her, and of a life she would lead if she left this place without her little girl. And at this most opportune of times, she started to cry. Esmanur hugged her, moved by both her tears and words, and whispered in her ear. „Mommy… Mommy, don’t cry… I’ll go to Istanbul with you…“ Nigar gently took her head in her hands and kissed her forehead. She then wrapped her arms around her and stayed that way for a while, untill she was able to stop crying and take the girl back to Nicolaos efendi’s house.

 Nonetheless, when the time came to say goodbye to the people that loved and raised her so far, Esmanur was unable to stop crying. At the very least, she didn’t protest anymore, instead clinging to her mother for dear life as she carried her to a boat heading for Istanbul. On board, she was clearly miserable, and she even asked Nigar once whether they can’t go back. But it was too late. Despite all of her guilt, not even Nigar herself could return her to Nicolaos efendi. It was probably for the best, too, because she has never seen a child this unhappy in her entire life, and if she had the slightest option to go back on her word, she undoubtedly would.   After securing a room in an inn, Nigar’s first order of business was to visit Şah Sultan – the last person she could rely on with the exception of Nasuh Efendi, and perhaps some old friends from the palace she couldn’t find these days anyway. A lot of palace women had quite a bit to thank her to – and some of them would surely remember to be thankful, if she was ever fortunate enough to meet them again (however unlikely that was). She fostered some close friendships in Diyarbekir, too, although that was naturally far away and the last thing she wanted was to drag her child into such a remote province – besides, such a long way would probably cost her the rest of her remaining money. So calculating, she went before Şah Sultan holding her daughter’s hand.   Şah seemed surprised, but not delighted or displeased by this surprise. „Nigar! I haven’t expected you to come back so soon. And… Is this Ibrahim pasha’s daughter?“ „Yes, your majesty. Her name is Esmanur.“ She gave the girl a pointed look, at which she made a clumsy bow. This made Şah smile with delight. „What a beautiful girl! Indeed, she looks just like her mother. How old is she?“ „Five, milady.“ Şah sighed. „She was born the very year my mother, the great Ayşe Hafsa died. That year brought us such misfortune… Hopefully, Allah hadn’t let us suffer trough all of that in vain, and your daughter will bring us at least some joy. I assume you were going ask me to help you and Esmanur, correct?“ „Yes, milady. You know I would not bother you with such things if I had any other option, but sadly, there isn’t much I can do on my own.“ „Why did you put the burden of taking care of this girl on your shoulders, if you yourself had nowhere to go? Where did she live so far, anyway?“ „Majesty, it is true that in some ways, my daughter was well taken care of, but you must know I had thought about her wellbeing as well as mine when I took her from her foster parents. You see, they had her baptised, and raised as a christian.“ Şah pursed her lips together. „Well, I suppose it is indeed better that she lives with you, then. Do you or your daughter need anything?“ „No, milady, we get by for now. Me and my daughter came merely to visit, so you majesty knows we are in Istanbul, and if my services or company were needed, you would be able to call upon me.“ Şah suddenly took a wistful gaze upon the little girl. „Esmanur, my child. Was your journey long?“ Esmanur turned a confused look towards her mother. „She grew up in a Greek town, she hasn’t learn Turkish yet.“ explained Nigar. „Hopefully, her mother will teach her.“ noted Şah bitterly. „Do you have anyone in the city, someone who could help me contact you?“ „Matrakçi Nasuh efendi, milady. I plan to pay him a visit after we part.“ Şah nodded with her typical satisfied smile. „Alright, then. I must thank you for bringing a semblance of good news to this palace. Celebrations of that unfortunate wedding are upon us, starting tomorrow – have you heard?“ „People on the street can talk of nothing else. May it be a consolation to you that some are just as displeased with the news as you.“ „People on the street don’t appoint pashas, so it is in fact no consolation to me, Nigar hatun. Especially since Rüstem was named into divan recently.“ „I have heard of that as well, and it hardly surprises me. If our padişah was willing to marry his only daughter to him, he must favor him… For whatever reason.“ She made sure her last word contained just the right hint of disapproval that was noticeable, but couldn’t be perceived as disrespectful. This made Şah smile. „Indeed. For whatever reason.“ Her attention then shifted back to the girl, and she suddenly seemed somewhat dissappointed. „She looks just like you.“ „I too wished there was more of late Ibrahim pasha in her, but alas. Hopefully Huricihan and Osman resemble their father, at least.“ „Sadly, they didn’t have much luck in that department, either.“ She suddenly saw Esmanur fidgeting. „What is going on, child?“ She turned back to Nigar. „Could you ask her?“ „I think she has simply been standing for too long. Perhaps it is a sign that we should go…“ Şah hesitated only for a moment, before she told her with a smile. „Don’t worry, she can sit here.“ She pointed to the end of the left arm of the divan, relatively close to where she was sitting at the moment, but not to the point of insubordination. „And you… You tell me more about your daughter, Nigar hatun.“

#magnificent century #nigar kalfa